Rediscovering Magic
by Sagarian
Summary: The cosmos seek their revenge on Merlin for daring to manipulate the natural order. Rescue comes from an unexpected source and the sorcerer discovers why he never has to fear the gods of fate. Arthur/Merlin slash. Sequel to Bearing Fruit. Must read prior!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Rediscovering Magic: _the sequel to Bearing Fruit_  
**Pairing**: Arthur/Merlin  
**Genre**: Romance, Adventure  
**Rating**: T

**Summary**: The cosmos seek their revenge on Merlin for daring to manipulate the natural order. Rescue comes from an unexpected source and the sorcerer discovers why he never has to fear the gods of fate. *(This story will make even less sense if you have not read _Bearing Fruit_, which can be found by clicking my name at the top of the screen. **Please** read it before attempting this insanity.)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Merlin_ or _Fable_. Please don't hurt me.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Mentions events from "Le Morte d'Arthur." Contains mpreg, but I tried to keep it classy. This story is nearly twice as long as _Bearing Fruit_, so I had that much more opportunity to make unforgivable mistakes.

**Author's Notes**: In some texts, Merlin's last name is Ambrosius or Emrys (depending on where the people were from), meaning "immortal". The Merlin in this story holds the latter title. Also, I borrowed the names of some locations and creatures from the video games _Fable_ and _Fable II_. If you haven't played them, please treat yourself.  
**Dedications**: To everyone who was so damn sweet and awesome with their comments for _Bearing Fruit_. I have thanked you all individually, but I wanted to say again how much your support meant to me. Forgive me for this sequel.

**Reviews/critiques will make me sing and dance for you.**

* * *

**ACT I**

The blissful denial that they have to worry about anything more pressing than potential baby names and baby blanket patterns lasts until bed time.

Those first few hours had been the most liberating of Merlin's life. For once, he was free to unburden all those little secrets tied into his one big secret: using his magic to save Arthur _countless_ times (Arthur snorts at this), the Great Dragon, their shared destinies, the events at the Isle of the Blessed, and how Merlin came to be in his present state of pregnant sorcerer.

It was a great deal for the prince to take in, but he withstood it all with his usual confident and indomitable spirit. His expression smoldered with hurt and anger at times, but a touch from Merlin and the tension seemed to abate as quickly as it'd come.

The trouble came when they retired for the night and Merlin started thinking to himself in the hushed darkness, obviously a dangerous pastime for him. Was this not _exactly_ how the fruit bearing experiment had been set in motion in the first place?

Arthur begins to slip into the welcoming arms of sleep while Merlin stares unblinking at the shadow-shapes decorating the canopy above them.

"Neither," the sorcerer says suddenly, the volume of his voice contradicting the quietness of the night.

"What?" Arthur murmurs, only half listening. Either Merlin has been talking while the prince slept or this non-sequitur is just another example of his lover's semi-deranged thought process.

Merlin turns his head on the pillow and can just make out Arthur's face in the faint light. His brows have slightly more tension in them, but he hasn't even opened his eyes.

_Typical._

"Earlier, you asked me if this child is a prince or a princess. It is neither. Not when its '_mother_' is who he is."

"What are you on about, Merlin?" Arthur grumbles, still not intrigued enough to come fully awake. He turns over to put his back to the sorcerer in a none-too-subtle hint.

Arthur is just starting to slide back into that sweet, mindless phase of sleep when something Merlin says jolts him completely alert, his entire body tense for combat.

_"What did you say?"_

"It will only be for the last three months…" Merlin trails off unhappily, preparing himself for Arthur's wrath.

"No. I want to hear you say it again. I want to hear you say how you want to _leave me_, take _my child_…"

"It has nothing to do with what I want!" Merlin bursts out, "You are the son of Uther Pendragon. I know you of all people can exercise reason over emotion."

"I never said things would be easy-"

"No. Easy would be never having to hide what I am in the first place without fear of ending up as grilled bits or having my head featured on a pike."

Merlin gentles at Arthur's distressed expression, reaching out to squeeze his taut bicep.

"I'll just leave Camelot for three months. Three little months. And I can have the baby and then-"

"And then what?" Arthur counters, irritated by the very suggestion of something so absurd, "You'll still be Merlin."

"I can return with the pretense that I rescued the child from bandits or I found it in the forests somewhere. It would be impossible to trace the accuracy of the story."

"So, it will be yours alone then? The child of a _manservant_."

"Be reasonable-"

"I won't have it raised as a commoner," Arthur insists in a way that is unbecoming of the prince that he is.

"You cannot pretend you're not who you are."

"I want this child to know his father. I want him to have a place in this kingdom."

"I appreciate that bit of romanticism," Merlin scorns, "But you're living a fool's dream."

Arthur's face changes in the dark and the sorcerer's stomach clenches at the sight. Even the baby seems a little apprehensive.

He's gone too far and he knows it.

"I cannot hide this anymore," Merlin says in a mildly calmer tone. He doesn't want to hurt Arthur, but the fact that the prince refuses to grasp the severity of their situation angers him.

"People will start to figure things out. Gwen and Morgana already suspect. And, whenever I approach Gaius, he always starts talking to my stomach first before he can wrench himself away to look me in the eyes."

"I doubt they would betray you."

"And Uther?" Merlin confronts, not missing Arthur's slight flinch at the name, "What about when he starts to wonder why Arthur's manservant cannot get out of an armless chair or stand for more than fifteen minutes before his feet swell out of his boots?"

Arthur sobers at this.

"I'll deal with that if it comes."

"No!" Merlin nearly shouts, frustrated to his limits, "Not when so much is at stake. Your future. The baby's _life_. I won't risk it. When you are king, the truth will come out. Until then-"

"I forbid you to leave."

Arthur sounds threatening in a way that Merlin has never heard directed at him.

"You _forbid_ me?" he sputters, incredulous. Arthur should know forbidding Merlin to do anything is like giving him a golden-edged invitation to disobey.

"You're making me feel like a desperate man, Merlin. I don't like it."

"So, I'm already your weakness, am I?"

"I didn't say that."

But Merlin thinks, _what if I am? What if this baby is?_

He contemplates briefly if this is part of that cascading chain of events he worried about after the death of Nimueh. He fears the Great Dragon would know something, but he still refuses to see the beast after he knowingly sacrificed Hunith for his own selfish gain.

"I must do this," he asserts again firmly despite the weight of these thoughts. Even if he has altered the future in some inexplicable way, it doesn't change the fact that this is their one chance at seeing this thing through to the end.

"How are you going to survive on your own for three months, swollen and addle-brained as you are?"

"I can take care of myself."

"And what about when it's time to deliver the baby? What will you do then? At least here, Gaius could-"

"I think this is out of Gaius' realm of expertise," Merlin shuts him down insolently.

"Either way," Arthur scowls, not allowing his irritation at being interrupted stop him from trying to convince the irrational sorcerer of the error of his thinking, "You have support here. A warm, clean place to sleep and bathe. Regular nutrition-"

"My head on a pike."

"I cannot protect you if I don't know where you are."

"You won't have to if I'm far enough out of Camelot's reach."

"Yes," the prince scoffs, "Because life is _so_ civilized and safe outside of these walls."

"I'll be fine-"

"And what about me?" Arthur asks, letting the strangled hold on his vulnerability loosen just slightly, "I won't be fine. I'll be left wondering, fearing, doubting, losing my mind. Missing you like someone tore out half my soul."

Merlin stares at Arthur in the shy light of the moon. He knows they will _never_ agree on this.

"You're strong, Arthur. It's one of the things I love most about you."

The prince opens his mouth to say more, but Merlin hushes him. He is suddenly very close and gentle.

"I don't want to fight," he whispers, pressing Arthur back onto the bed.

He knows one guaranteed way to distract his prince, at least temporarily.

He also knows part of the reason Arthur gives in so easily is because he thinks this argument is going to continue the following day. And the days after that, until it's finally resolved.

He's wrong.

Hours pass and when Merlin is sure the other man is asleep, he presses a kiss over Arthur's heart and whispers so quietly that he doesn't wake him, but he hopes he can hear it in his dreams.

"Forgive me."

* * *

Arthur wakes to the sound of a meek feminine voice asking him very politely if it would be acceptable for him to wake up now as he is supposed to be training the knights this morning and he hasn't even had his breakfast yet.

Arthur open his eyes to see a servant girl whose name he cannot remember standing by his bed, her eyes lowered and hands clasped together tightly.

The prince glances over to his other side, afraid that fool Merlin has let them oversleep and get caught in bed together.

Besides his own nude body, the bed is empty.

Arthur pats at the rumpled blankets although no grown human male could be hiding in them. Especially not one as rotund as Merlin.

He looks back at the girl.

"Have you seen my manservant this morning?"

"No, sire. He didn't come down to the kitchens to get your breakfast. But, don't worry. I've brought it-"

_Don't worry._

Arthur springs out of the bed and rushes past the flinching servant girl. A hardwired respect for decorum forces him to pull on breeches, tunic and boots before he flees the room, heading straight for Merlin's and Gaius' accommodations.

He bursts into the main room, ignoring the physician's "My lord?" as he strides toward Merlin's private quarters.

He already knows he's not there, but the visual confirmation he receives when he pushes open the door hits him like a thousand poisoned arrows to the heart.

He stumbles against the frame, the cold dread seeping straight into his bone marrow and making him ache all over.

"My lord?" Gaius' gentle hands steady him and help him onto the workbench the physician had just quit.

Arthur forces himself to concentrate on his breathing, deliberately slowing and deepening it.

He will _not_ cry.

He will _not_ destroy every breakable thing in sight.

Gaius sets one of his concoctions for pain relief and a glass of water beside the stony prince and then wisely leaves the room.

Before that first dreadful day ends, both Gwen and Morgana approach him, the former timidly inquiring while the latter vehemently demanding.

The question is the same from both women.

_Where is Merlin?_

Pulling together his mask with every ounce of skill from his nobility training, Arthur responds he doesn't know in the same way he would say, "Yes, the weather is quite fine today."

When they start to voice their (well-grounded) concern for the sorcerer's well being and prompt him to reveal what he plans to do about the situation, Arthur gives them a practiced shrug.

"He wasn't that much of a servant, anyway."

They both turn away in disgust. Morgana does not bother hiding hers while Gwen tries, but is unsuccessful.

The look in her once admiring eyes feels like a fatal wound to Arthur.

Over supper that night with his father (in which Arthur doesn't taste a single morsel), the king demands to know what Arthur thinks is the right course of action for handling the gaining strength of the bandit camps near Witchwood.

Arthur hopes he gives some kind of coherent answer because he's not really listening to anything Uther says.

Until-

"I heard that idiot manservant of yours has run off."

Arthur's hands fist underneath the table, short nails digging welts into the skin of his palm.

"Yes," the prince says tonelessly, the mantra in his head keeping his face carefully impassive (_it means nothing, it means nothing, it means nothing…_)

"That ungrateful cur," Uther says just as tonelessly, "You should put a bounty on his head. It would be a good lesson to any other servants who think they are not bound by their duties to this kingdom."

The _No!_ that immediately threatens to eject from Arthur's lips is swallowed down uneasily.

But, then he thinks, _no wonder this man is king._

"You know, father… I think you're absolutely right."

The next morning, Arthur tells the knights to prepare to "visit" the bandit camp in Witchwood in a week's time.

The journey would take them far north, to the outer edges of Albion. Once there, Arthur would be able to easily find one of the many vagabond trading camps where any manner of hired murderers and mercenaries could be bought.

A place outside of Albion where they didn't know much about civility or nobility.

A place where they wouldn't recognize a desperate Prince Arthur of Camelot.

* * *

By the time he can set his plan into action, Arthur is as high strung as a tomcat thrown into a bucket of water.

In a week, all sorts of terrible things could have happened to Merlin and the baby already. And Arthur wouldn't even know until it was too late.

After they subdue the bandits in Witchwood (too easy), the prince tells the knights to head back to Camelot without him and he will catch up with them in about two days.

Before the protests can even form in their brains, Arthur makes it clear.

_That's an order._

From Witchwood, he has barely ridden half a day northward before he stumbles upon a makeshift trading camp.

Changing out of his royal battle gear and reminding himself firmly that he does not rule over these people, Arthur tries to slip unnoticed into the camp (he's noticed) and blend in with the vagabonds (he doesn't). He starts asking around until he finds an old woman with the information he needs.

"I'm looking for a hunter, a mercenary. Someone who knows how to track a person through wilds and civilization alike. Someone who can immobilize him once found."

"Half the men here would be willing and able to do that for you," the crone wheezes, openly scrutinizing the stranger, "Provided you pay enough coin."

Arthur has heard this before.

"There's one other important… stipulation."

The woman eyes him warily. Something about the way he says this has her hackles up. Making someone like her who has seen and done unspeakable things uncomfortable is no small feat.

When the young man manages to look her in the eyes again, there is a depth of shame there that makes her think his tale would be one to hear over a fire with spiced ale.

"This mercenary. He has to know magic."

* * *

**Please continue to the next part :)**


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Merlin marks a short vertical line on the inside cover of the spell book.

"Twenty-three days. We're almost two-thirds there," Merlin speaks aloud with a satisfied smile, seemingly to no one as he is completely alone in the sheltered woodland where he had camped for the night.

He tickles his own belly and hunches over it to speak more directly to his audience of one, giggling like he has caught a mental illness.

It has only been recently that he's been able to think of the presence sharing his body as anything other than a liability. Only since he left Camelot.

"About sixty-seven more days to go."

The reply he gets in return is a sharp twinge and Merlin sighs resignedly.

"Yes, I know you like to start every morning angry with me."

"Let's see," he counts on his fingers, "I make you sleep outside on the hard ground, I haven't eaten anything for the last seven hours, and I'm keeping you away from your home and your father. Can we move on now and try to enjoy this nice spring day?"

The response this time is more indicative of the extent of the baby's agitation.

Merlin goes a little (more) pale and has to scramble on hands and knees from their campsite before he decorates the bedroll and makeshift fire pit with grayish bile.

"Your feelings on the matter are duly noted," Merlin huffs breathlessly, still wrestling with his spasming gag reflex. He loses the fight and more vomit is ejected violently onto the ground between his spread hands.

It is an immense relief that the baby doesn't object to the dried meat and apple that is their breakfast.

"I appreciate the courtesy," Merlin deadpans when the baby sits complacently to allow for an uninterrupted meal.

Merlin is aware of the nausea and vomiting that most pregnant women experience in the mornings, but his baby just seems extra fidgety.

Merlin understands its displeasure over their situation. For nearly four weeks, they've been living like nomads. They never stay in one place for more than two nights, wandering from village to village, staying just long enough to purchase supplies and then hiding in the forested fringes to sleep so they can start the routine all over again.

Besides the food bought during their brief visits into the towns, they only have a pillow, bedroll, water flask, wooden bowl, knife, tin pot, a change of clothes, and the spell book. The burdens Merlin has to carry on his back and his front do nothing for either of their comforts. His feet often resemble that of a troll's.

As loathe as Merlin is to admit it, Arthur was right: this is not the life for a pregnant sorcerer.

He wouldn't have had to take such extreme precautions if he had been able to leave Albion completely. That had been his original plan since that first night he stole away to begin this hardship.

Just when he thought he had made some significant gains in leaving Albion behind, this sudden agonizing pain had tore through him as if he'd been struck by a bolt from the sky.

He had crashed to his knees on the gritty dirt path and eventually had to crawl back like a dog to some invisible line that the baby had decided was the farthest distance they could be from Arthur.

It was as if some magical tether existed between Arthur and the baby and it was suicide to try and snap it.

"_Traitor_," Merlin had muttered to his stomach that day and had all but felt the baby unsympathetically shrug at him.

Still, that did not keep Merlin from believing they could continue undetected and out of Arthur's (ironically longed-for) reach, even in Albion. It is widely spread and has enough untamed lands for them to hide in. He just has to keep moving.

And keep his wits about him.

For that is another thing Arthur was right about: the lands outside of Camelot are not always civilized and safe.

There is a disturbing array of barbarians, bandits, insurgents, highwaymen, and your garden-variety thieves, murderers, and swindlers mucking about. Some people don't even mean any active harm, but are riddled with filth and disease.

Although, not physically threatening, small bands of that new cult-like religion weren't always the sanest people Merlin had come across.

Of course, those are just the foes of the human persuasion. There are also the earth trolls, goblins, balverines, hobbes, sprites, Hollow Men, and shadow creatures to deal with.

Some lands are considerably safer than others, but Merlin cannot stay in the same area for long and there are times when he has to cross through dangerous territory.

Had it not been for his magic, he never would have attempted this journey.

Of course, had it not been for his magic, he never would have had to.

There is one village he has been avoiding like the plague: Ealdor.

It was the only place he had a connection to (besides Camelot) and Arthur would have considered that fact.

However, it's been nearly a month with no sign of Arthur or anyone else from Camelot. Merlin knows the prince would not be able to just run after him on his own and he couldn't very well justify sending his men on a scouting party to search for a lowly manservant.

It might not be such a bad idea to take one _teensy_ little visit to see his mother.

Merlin's heart irrepressibly dances at this thought and now that the possibly has crossed his mind, he cannot ignore it. To feel those familiar hands on his face and in his hair, to be held in the soft gaze of those kind eyes. He sorely misses the reassuring company of someone who loves him. And since he cannot be with Arthur…

"What do you think?" he strokes down the wide arc of his stomach, "You want to visit your grandmother?"

Merlin takes the baby's lack of agitated movement to be a thumbs up.

* * *

Merlin knows he's taking a monumental risk of ruining his heretofore luck at not being caught so he tries to minimize it by approaching Ealdor in the dead of night.

The small village sleeps peacefully and Merlin makes every attempt to be as silent as the grave as he skulks from shadow to shadow until he can edge around to his mother's modest dwelling. He knows he must be a ridiculous sight with his plump and graceless figure trying to be light on his swollen feet.

Knowing it is unlocked, he eases himself inside and immediately conjures a small light in his hand so that his mother will see him and not be frightened.

Her bed is in the corner farthest from the door and Merlin can make out her still form under the thin blanket.

"Mother?" he says loud enough to wake her, but to not be startling, "Mother, it's me. Merlin."

Hunith sits up in the bed and blinks rapidly, holding a hand over her eyes to adjust to the light.

She is smiling and getting to her feet by the time Merlin approaches.

Merlin expands the ball of light and lets it float over them so they can see each other properly.

"Merlin!" Hunith chirps joyfully as she moves to embrace her son. The second she realizes her arms cannot fit all the way around him, her delighted surprise turns into wary surprise.

"Merlin?" she furrows her brows at her boy's sheepish grin.

"Let's have a sit down, shall we?"

By the time Merlin finishes his tale, Hunith has almost run the entire gamut of all possible human expressions of emotion.

Throughout the storytelling, she often lifts up his shirt and rubs his belly as if she needs physical confirmation that it has not changed since the last time she looked at it.

Merlin shakes his head at her affectionately and gladly allows it. The touch of her warm, lightly-calloused hands inspires a sense-memory of being cuddled in her loving embrace as a small boy.

Despite everything he's gone through (and will go through soon), Merlin looks away from Hunith when he comes to the part in the narrative where he had "relations" with Arthur. He deliberately does not clarify that it was an on-going affair and leaves her to assume what she will. She is still his mother after all.

Hunith is graciously supportive and nonjudgmental until he gets to his current situation. Then, she is just as critical of his plan as Arthur was.

"There are so many evil things out there, Merlin."

"I have my magic and I stay as close to the more trustworthy towns as I can."

"But, the baby," Hunith rubs his stomach again, "It needs regular nutrition and a healthy mother. And what are you doing for money?"

"I make sure to eat decently and often," he assures, "Anyway, I don't think it would let me get away with not eating. It's quite a kicker. As for money, I took some coins from Arthur when I left-"

"Merlin!"

His mother's shocked exclamation of his name is straight from his memories of being caught doing something naughty as a child. Like the time the moon starting growing dangerously huge in the sky when Merlin wanted to play with "the big glowing thingy."

"Calm down. While things were still going well, he told me everything he owned was as much mine as his. Trust me, he doesn't care about the money."

"Okay," Hunith waves this off (although she still disapproves), "But what about when it's time to have the baby? Have you thought about how…?"

Hunith, at a loss for words, gestures at his belly and, presumably, his body's lack of a suitable exit point for a human newborn.

Merlin ignores his blush and retrieves his spell book from his pack on the floor.

"I've actually been thinking about that."

He flips through the book and points to several pages although he knows Hunith cannot decipher the graphics.

"This is a numbing spell. Oh, and here's a cleansing spell. And I found this non-fatal wound healing spell."

Hunith looks at him with dawning horror in her eyes.

"You don't mean…?"

Merlin shrugs, although it is not a careless gesture in the slightest.

"It's the only way I can think of."

"Oh, Merlin…" Hunith rests her face in her hands.

"It'll be okay," Merlin comforts her, smoothing back her softly curling hair and trying not to let the ache in his chest at seeing her distraught face belie his words, "I promise."

Hunith just sighs and pets his belly.

"Well," Merlin says abruptly, desperate to change the subject, "We both probably need to get some rest. I'm heading towards Fairfax next and I'll have to leave before dawn to avoid being seen. You can imagine how hard it is to go unnoticed when you're a man carrying around an extra-large chamber pot under your shirt."

Hunith actually manages a small smile at this, grateful to be able to do something to help her son.

"The best way for a pregnant man to go unnoticed is not to be a pregnant man."

Merlin gives her a puzzled look and she just pats his head and goes over to her clothing chest.

She pulls out a couple of her old, looser dresses and a few head scarves.

"Will my humiliation with this pregnancy ever end?" Merlin sighs.

Hunith fits a bright red scarf over his head.

"Why aren't you just the prettiest little thing?"

Before they retire, Merlin eagerly takes in whatever little tidbits he can on what else he can expect from his pregnancy. He is senselessly happy to hear that he was an easy baby.

Merlin and Hunith squeeze into her little bed (both refusing to let the other take the floor) and mother cradles son in her arms.

"No matter how old you get or how many babies you have-"

"Trust me, this is it."

Hunith kisses his hair.

"You will always be my boy. Be careful, love."

* * *

Merlin is a good ten kilometers from Fairfax, traveling through the woods parallel to the too well-used road, when he notices someone (or something) is following him.

The area surrounding the nearby village is not known for crime-minded humans or magical creatures so the knowledge he has a stalker is especially startling.

Miraculously finding a birch just wide enough to (mostly) hide his pregnant body, Merlin eases the pack off his shoulders and stands quietly against the tree, straining to listen for the location and direction of footsteps.

He's not particularly afraid that he cannot handle one person/creature. In all likelihood, it would be a simple exercise for his magic, an opportunity to harness it and wield it and further refine his skills. He has some beginning experience with a new range of spells that he is eager to master. Since he left Camelot, he's only really used his magic for light and warmth and to put up shields when spending the night in those more dodgy locations.

But, he would still rather avoid a confrontation and he doesn't know if this person is just the lead scout for many more to come.

Merlin knows he is powerful, but he would rather not test his limits while he is many kilometers from any assistance and seven months pregnant.

Suspense more than fear has his heart thumping at an uncomfortable tempo as he waits for any sign of his stalker's identity and position. Ever since he stepped behind the tree, there has been no other sound other than a light wind curling through the trees and the occasional chattering of small animals.

His follower must realize that Merlin knows he is there and is now utterly silent.

Merlin stands still for as long as he can, but he had been about to take a break before this situation had intruded upon his plans and his legs and back ache with the strain of traveling on foot.

Merlin is starting to think that dark flash he saw moving through the dense undergrowth was maybe just a trick of his pregnant-brain. This forced assertion probably has more to do with the fact that he really needs to sit down and less to do with his actually believing it.

Merlin takes two steps from the tree and his feet are suddenly locked on the earth.

"What?" Merlin is aghast at this unexpected development.

_Magic?_ Being used against _him?_

The stalker that he tried to pretend he didn't have suddenly comes into view, stepping out from behind the other side of the tree where he'd been all along.

A human.

"Ah, my-" the stranger starts conversationally as if they are friends.

He doesn't get any further.

With the flick of his wrist, Merlin hits him with his own binding spell and then wrenches his feet off the ground with incredible effort.

Before Merlin can even stop to think that this stranger's magic should not be underestimated, he witnesses him throwing off his bind with an ease that should not have been.

Merlin can figuratively (and maybe literally if he practices) turn a man into stone and yet his binding spell is cast off in mere _seconds_ by this _mortal?_

Merlin is absolutely flabbergasted and enraged by this fact.

His distraction is the only reason his attacker's stun spell is not evaded and sends him tumbling to the ground into sweet, bewildering darkness.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Onward to the next part! Tally ho!


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin hazily blinks into consciousness. He doesn't notice the rough ground underneath him or the pounding in his head that matches his earlier heartbeat.

The only thing he is aware of is the stranger crouched over him with his hand under his dress, caressing his body with wide strokes, the blisters and rough scars alighting Merlin's sensitive skin.

"No…" he groans thickly and manages to bind still the offending hand long enough to shove it away from his now trembling belly and stop the intrusive fondling.

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," the stranger assures cockily, sitting back on his haunches, "I'm just trying to figure out what you got under there."

Merlin struggles to sit up and cast something more damaging than a stun spell.

His half-concentrated energy shockwave is blocked, but only just barely so. It takes a lot out of the stranger to avoid being disintegrated and he shouts at Merlin to _cut it out_ as if they are children playing a game and Merlin is breaking the rules.

And that's when he realizes.

It's not that the stranger is stronger than him.

It's that his magic has _weakened._

First the baby wouldn't let him leave Albion. Now it's _draining him_, body and magic.

Merlin wants to scream in frustration.

"Look," the stranger says, moving off of Merlin with his hands up in surrender, "I'm backing off."

Merlin, feeling like a turtle turned on its shell, has to humiliatingly roll onto his stomach and push up on his hands in order to get into quadruped. From here, it's another awkward struggle to gain his feet.

He jerks his arm out of the stranger's grasp when he tries to help.

_"Don't touch me!"_

The stranger takes a few steps back and stares at Merlin with wide, guileless eyes.

Merlin leans over, hands on his thighs, and tries to catch his breath for a few seconds. He forces his head to stay up so he can keep an eye on the other man.

The stranger is in his middle ages, but it appears to have been a rough 30 years if the new and fading scars are any indication. He is tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. He wears the undecorated, but well-made clothes of a ruffian who has done well for himself. A decent-looking steel longsword hangs on his belt.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" Merlin asks coldly when he can get enough air in his lungs.

The thug has the nerve to smile at him and bow slightly.

"Mercenary. Sword-for-hire. Marauder. All the things you feared I was."

"And I'm one of your jobs?"

The merc nods, that infuriating smile a permanent fixture on his expression.

"I don't usually travel this far south, but my employer is paying quite handsomely for your return. He wore plain clothes, but there was something about him. I can tell he is one who commands others. He has power. And lots of it."

"Your employer," Merlin's heart trips, "Let me guess. Blond and blue-eyed. Clean smell, fair skin, good teeth. Pratitude of astronomical proportions."

"Sounds about right."

"I'm sorry you wasted your time and I hope you took half your payment upfront-"

"I always take half upfront."

"- but I am _not_ going back with you."

"You don't know me around these parts, so let me fill you in on a well-known fact. I always bring in my marks. _Always._"

"Not this mark."

"I'll admit that you've already made this more difficult than I had first anticipated. We're more evenly matched than I'm used to."

Merlin spits, "I'm a thousand times more powerful than you can imagine."

"Really now? And which one of us is the one with the concussion?"

Merlin frowns at this, but keeps his head held high.

"I'm just not in my top form."

At this, the stranger's gaze flickers down to the swell under Merlin's dress.

"What's wrong with your stomach?"

"What's wrong with your face?" Merlin bites back, almost immediately regretting the childish retort.

The stranger just laughs.

"He warned me you'd be feisty."

Merlin just sneers and wonders if he has enough energy to go on the offensive again.

"I don't know what you've done to this man, but he's determined to find you," the merc starts again, smirking slightly when the other sorcerer's face goes even whiter, "As I said, you wouldn't believe what he's paying me. And the look in his eyes. As if he'd lost something more precious than his own life."

Merlin swallows slowly and his glassy stare lowers to the ground.

The bounty hunter just continues, knowing full well what his words do to the dark-haired boy.

"What did you steal from him anyway? I noticed quite a stash of coins in your bag, but not enough to warrant this desperate search."

Not expecting to be answered, the man changes tactics.

"I know you must be tired and hungry after coming here all the way from Ealdor."

_Damn it. He knew it was a mistake to go there._

Noticing the regretful look on the boy's face, the merc confirms, "Yes, that was how I found you. I've basically been staking out the village ever since I was hired. Your pursuer knew you would pass through there eventually."

_Damn Arthur. Knowing him so well._

"As I was saying, you have to be starving. Let's call a temporary truce and have lunch. Then," he sighs, "We can begin our little game again. What do you say?"

Merlin is about to answer with an energy bolt to the face when the baby starts fretting uneasily.

He gives in with a curt nod.

"Okay. Truce starts… now," the merc makes a sign with his hands and starts digging through his own bag, sitting up against the same birch Merlin had tried to hide behind.

Merlin struggles back down to ground, not missing the irony of the effort it took to get up from it not five minutes ago, and retrieves the bread and cheese his mother packed for him. He makes sure there's a comfortable distance between himself and the mercenary.

"There's no reason for this to get ugly," the man says, ripping into a piece of what appears to be pork rump, "It can be our own little paradox. Friendly enemies."

Merlin ignores him.

"My name is Mardigan. My employer didn't tell me yours."

Merlin pointedly studies the food in his hands, not looking at the merc.

Mardigan nods, accepting the boy's rebuff. Not angry, but not pleased either.

"Yeah. Okay."

They continue eating in silence for a few minutes, but Mardigan just cannot help himself.

"Why don't I give you a nickname then? Like I did the man you so ruthlessly betrayed."

Merlin shoots him a sharp glare, but refuses to be roused into speaking.

"Let's see," the merc gives him an appraising look, "What should we call you?"

Merlin adjusts his expression back to practiced indifference.

"How about… _Sparrow_. It'll be ironic. For although you are both plump and round, the sparrow manages to move with a grace you could never possess-"

The small piece of bread Merlin had been bringing to his mouth suddenly turns to dust in his crackling fingertips.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Mardigan wags his finger, "Truce, remember?"

The mercenary waits until Merlin repacks his gear and gets back up from the ground (this takes a while and Mardigan longs to be allowed to help him).

With both standing again, facing each other, Mardigan gives Merlin a tired look.

"All right," he sighs, "Truce is off."

Merlin had spent most of the time during lunch planning his move.

He slows time, which he knows Mardigan wasn't expecting, and blasts him with a stun spell.

With his magic in its weakened state, he knows it won't last long. He doesn't waste a single second in gathering his bag and running full on into the western woods, away from Fairfax.

It's only about a half hour before Mardigan catches up with him.

Thus begins their circular dance.

Martigan will bind or stun Merlin temporarily. Merlin will recover and bind or stun him temporarily back.

Then Merlin will run.

And Martigan will catch him.

Because Merlin has been dragged kicking and screaming to only slightly above the mercenary's magic level, their attacks are too similar in strength.

This annoys Merlin to no end.

This farce goes on for two weeks. Merlin will make some headway; Mardigan will bring him back. Merlin will gain a few meters; Mardigan will take some away.

It serves its purpose. Merlin is still widening the gap between himself and Camelot and continuing to stall his return until he can deliver the baby.

The chase takes them all the way to the edges of Albion where Merlin is again brought to his knees by the baby's agonizing insistence that they stay within Arthur's realm.

Merlin curls up on his side in a fetal position as the pain seizes his entire body.

"I want to be with him, too" his whimpers to his belly where the tantrum rages, "But, we can't. For his sake and ours. Why don't you understand that?"

Mardigan finds him still lying there minutes later.

Merlin doesn't even resist when the bounty hunter hooks his arms under his back and legs and carries him back the way they had come.

* * *

"Of all the places to get stuck in after dark," Mardigan grouses, "You take us through the woods of Westcliff."

They had been marching through the marsh lands for a little over an hour when the sun starts to dip low in the sky.

Ever since the mercenary started following him, Merlin hasn't been as mindful about where he travels and when. He's just been focusing on getting away.

He doesn't know much about this area, but the tone in Mardigan's voice suggests it's one of those he typically tries to avoid, especially at nightfall.

Even though it is spring in Albion, the trees in Westcliff woods are skeletal and gray. They hunch over the forest floor, their spider-like branches reaching for those who dare to pass underneath.

The air is still and the silence and lack of any living creature is… not normal. These woods are definitely magic.

Bad magic.

Merlin refuses to show his fear.

"I'm sure with you being this great tracker and all-"

Mardigan suddenly collides into his back and clamps a large hand over his mouth.

Merlin is about to return what he thinks is an assault when Mardigan whispers low and harsh into his ear.

"Look. On the ground. To the right."

Breathing forcefully through his nose, Merlin's wide blue eyes slant down to where Mardigan indicated.

Jagged-nailed paw prints, half a meter in length, are imprinted deep in the thick mud.

They're fresh.

"Balverines," Mardigan growls with disgust.

Merlin shivers.

"Truce?" the merc asks quietly, already stepping back from Merlin and unsheathing his sword with that familiar _shhink_ sound.

"Truce," Merlin replies, sparks gathering at his fingertips.

Merlin has not had the privilege of encountering a balverine before, but he knows them all too well from legend. They began as the bastard sons of wolves and wicked elves, treated like excrement by their own people until their hatred was pure and their minds savage. Seven to nine feet tall with claws sharper than any sword, their bodies heavily muscled but agile, they boasted a raw power that could reduce a grown man into entrails and tattered skin within minutes. These creatures were unleashed upon the unsuspecting world to curse others to their vile existence with a single bite.

Knowing his power is at a disadvantage and that he is now fighting for two lives, Merlin trembles in his dress with both fear and fortitude.

He would never admit it later but he is glad to have Mardigan at his back.

Merlin sends up several glowing balls into the trees over them, trying to even out their disadvantage because, of course, balverines can see in the dark.

The first one steps into view five meters from the two sorcerers, glaring at the them with piercing yellow eyes.

Merlin is wondering why it shows itself so soon, when the beast rears back its shaggy head and calls forth a menacing howl deep from its heaving chest. The sound of crunching leaves and heavy panting fills in the silence all around them.

_Oh._

"Don't you worry, little Sparrow," Mardigan says, flourishing his sword and stepping forward slightly, "I promised Blondie I'd bring you back in one piece."

The balverines hold their position for a minute longer and then, with some silent signal, they attack.

Merlin and Mardigan fight like they have been trained together. They move as if they are one weapon, attacking and defending, fighting face to face and back to back, protecting themselves and landing blows in defense of the other.

Merlin desperately uses every spell he knows and even ones he had never conceived of before.

Balverines are set aflame, cleaved by an invisible steel, and force-pushed through brittle trees. A few merely explode in a thick burst of blood.

Merlin despises the knowledge that, had his magic not been tampered with, he probably would have been able to discharge a balverine backwards through time itself.

Mardigan leaves most of the magic to Merlin, although he does display his own light show now and again amidst his skillful thrusts and parries.

Time perception is altered in battle and it seems as if one second they're being attacked by a dozen blood-crazy balverines and the next, they're standing knee-deep in a mass of stinking, mangled bodies. It's a scene straight out of a nightmare.

Every muscle in Merlin's body aches pitifully, but his adrenaline is still running too high for him to fall down into satisfying oblivion. It won't be very long, though, before face meets ground.

Only after he is positive this pack of balverines has been completely felled does Mardigan turn to Merlin.

"Have you been bitten?" he asks, looking over Merlin intently and sliding his hands through the slick blood staining the other sorcerer's neck and arms.

"No," Merlin half-heartedly pushes him away, almost (but not quite) too tired to care about the unwanted touch, "Stop it. Why don't you check yourself?"

Mardigan steps away, but laughs haughtily despite not yet breathing at a normal rate.

"I've probably faced a hundred balverines before you were old enough to dress yourself. Which, by the way, looks like a skill you still haven't quite mastered."

"Piss off," Merlin grumbles, finally feeling his heart slowing.

"I know," Mardigan says as if Merlin is just a temperamental little brat. "I'm tired, too. Let's get going. Bowerstone is a couple of hours from here. Its forests are safe enough to retire for the night."

By the time they reach an area where the trees are actually green and the only animal sounds that can be heard are from a few harmless nocturnal birds, Merlin is half dead on feet.

He cannot even spend enough energy to care that he is still covered in balverine gore.

Mardigan quickly assembles a fire while Merlin spreads out his bedroll and collapses upon it.

"Truce still on?" he mumbles sleepily, his eyelids fluttering closed.

"Yeah," Mardigan agrees, lying close next to Merlin who would have protested had he not already fallen asleep, "Truce is still on."

* * *

There's more!


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

The baby wakes Merlin early the next morning and he immediately realizes why.

The smell of cooked lamb embarrassingly floods his mouth with saliva and he actually chokes on it while rolling over to sit up. The baby politely holds the nausea at bay. For now.

He finds Mardigan holding two sticks laden with the savory meat over their fire. They're just getting brown and crispy.

"How long have I been asleep?" Merlin asks, refusing to allow himself to believe one of those lamb sticks could be his (although he desperately hopes so in the back of his mind).

"Long enough for me to go into Bowerstone and buy these," Mardigan hands one stick over to Merlin who accepts it with lowered eyes.

He'll be more properly ashamed later. Once his stomach is full.

Well water, nuts and a few carrots round out the meal. What Merlin wouldn't do for some pottage right about now.

"Can we extend the truce until after I've bathed?" Merlin asks hopefully, noticing the refreshed state of Mardigan and wishing the same for himself.

Mardigan points into the trees south of their camp.

"About ten minutes in. A small stream."

Merlin bows his head slightly in gratitude although he cannot bring himself to say the words. He gathers some of his masculine clothes (the dresses are really starting to annoy him) and heads in the direction of the running water.

He is kneeling in the cool rivulet, pleasurably pulling handfuls and handfuls over his naked body when a few birds suddenly scatter into the air, chirping loudly in annoyance.

Merlin pauses and looks around, alert.

There.

A glimpse of movement between the trees.

Merlin hurriedly pulls on his clean clothes, uncaring that they are immediately dampened once in contact with his wet skin. As angry as he is in that moment, he half expects the water droplets to start sizzling.

Merlin stomps back to the campsite, narrowing his eyes at Mardigan who is sitting nonchalantly by their fire as if he'd been there all along.

"Were you watching me just now?" Merlin demands, standing over the merc menacingly.

"Hmmm?" Mardigan lifts a smug brow and doesn't even bother trying to pretend he doesn't know what Merlin is talking about.

_"Bastard."_

"Look, as I said before, don't flatter yourself. You intrigue me, but on a… scientific level. You're like a one-of-a-kind creature I've never encountered before. I'm just trying to understand what's going on with your body."

"Did 'Blondie' pay you to figure me out as well?"

"No-"

"Then don't bother," Merlin cuts him off abrasively and turns to put his pack back together.

"Oh, yeah, there's something I forgot to tell you earlier this morning," Martigan starts again and Merlin is already pausing in preparation for whatever horrible thing he's going to say.

"Blondie's got a new name now."

Merlin blinks. Shards of ice prickle down his spine.

_"What?"_

"_Arthur, sweet Arthur_," Mardigan mocks savagely in a high falsetto. "You cry in your sleep, little Sparrow. Did you not know this?"

Merlin flushes, stammers, denies.

"Your _client_ is definitely not my Arthur."

"Is _your_ Arthur the one that's done that to you?" Mardigan asks, gesturing to the boy's distended stomach with a nod.

Merlin's eyes darken first and then burn gold.

"Truce is over."

This fight is particularly brutal, although it ends with neither man seriously injured. It takes Mardigan nearly a whole day to finally catch up with Merlin in Oakfield.

The mercenary strolls into the still-active village late in the afternoon. He joins Merlin on a short stone fence circumscribing a garden on the edge of town, smiling as he sits beside the young sorcerer who is nursing cold milk from his wooden bowl and ignoring him.

"Where did you get that?" Mardigan asks casually as if they had arranged to meet here.

"There's a food and drink stall at the northern entrance, by the masonry. Can't miss it," Merlin mumbles.

"You know," Mardigan says, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands, "You would be subdued by now if I wasn't under strict orders (penalty of death) not to harm you."

"And you would be dead by now if my powers were in their pure form."

Mardigan tilts his head, studying Merlin closely.

"You certainly made quick work of several of those balverines."

Merlin glares at his quickly disappearing milk. _Did the merc_ want _to incite him to violence?_

"I have to admit," Martigan resumes, "this is taking a lot longer than I thought it would. I have to send word to Arthur-"

"He's _not Arthur!_"

"-that my charge has been caught, but I'm having a hard time bringing him to the drop-off point due to his, uh…_very impressive powers_," Mardigan teases openly.

Merlin narrows his eyes.

The mercenary pulls out a rolled piece of parchment from his bag and shakes it mischievously at Merlin.

"_You_ can read and write?" Merlin briefly enjoys the chance to taunt the other man.

"I cannot," Martigan confirms without shame, "But I know a nifty little spell that can transcribe my spoken words."

"How will you get that to him?"

"Never you mind, little Sparrow. Just know, he will get this message."

A sly smile from the merc.

"Anything you want to add?"

"I hate you."

"Oh, that's already in there."

Merlin is quiet for a moment, forcing himself to imagine the horrors that await him should he return to Camelot still pregnant, his secrets exposed to Uther and all the kingdom.

He can never forget why he's denying himself the perfection of being with the only man in the world he loves.

It is for the good of everyone. It is the right thing.

He turns to Martigan then, no longer spiteful or snide, but with a desperate pleading he hopes the other man can sympathize with.

"In about a month's time, I will go back willingly. You can still collect the rest of your payment. No one has to lose out."

Martigan snorts, "Do you know what it would do to my reputation if it took me more than two months to bring in my mark? Can't do it."

"You don't know what you're doing!" Merlin almost shouts, "This would destroy an entire kingdom."

"You?" Martigan gives him an incredulous look, "Have the power to destroy a kingdom? Ha!"

"It's true. Whether you choose to believe it or not," Merlin huffs crossly, already resigning to the fact that he cannot appeal to this man's sensibilities.

"Hey, I've learned early on in this life that Martigan has to look after Martigan. And as I said, my rep is on the line. What if I want to work in these parts again? Can't bloody well do that if they think I'm rubbish."

"But, Martigan… you _are_ rubbish."

"Okay," the mercenary growls, showing real anger at Merlin's insults for the first time, "Let's get out of sight of prying eyes and see if we can end this stalemate once and for all."

"Fine with me."

The stalemate endures.

Two hours later, Martigan falls into step beside Merlin as he is approaching Rookridge, one of the more thriving border towns.

"You know, I hear this place has a-"

Martigan falls uncharacteristically silent, looking towards the trees that flank their path.

"Do you here that?" he whispers to Merlin, already walking in the direction of some phantom noise.

"No?" Merlin looks at the man curiously, wondering what's gotten into the strange merc.

Martigan turns back to him suddenly, Merlin almost colliding into him. The mercenary's face shows his bewilderment, brows heavy and tense over his eyes.

"It's a woman crying for help."

"Martigan, I don't hear-"

The bounty hunter takes off running into the forest.

For a moment, Merlin thinks this is his chance to get a head start before the merc inescapably closes the distance between them again.

But, if there _is_ a woman in need of help…

"Damn it," he mutters, cursing his chivalry, and heads in the direction Martigan flew.

He doesn't have to walk far before he finds the mercenary standing at the entrance to a dirt cave about ten meters tall. Even though it is only early evening and the sun still shines, Merlin cannot see anything past the first three steps into the cave. The rest is cast in inky darkness.

"I think she's in there," Martigan says quietly, standing as if transfixed before the daunting cavern.

There is a slightly glazed look in his eyes that Merlin doesn't entirely trust. It reminds him of the look in most people eyes… when they're being magicked upon.

"I still don't-"

Martigan disappears inside at a full run.

Merlin curses again, sending several balls of light upward and forward to lead the way.

He has moved inside approximately thirty paces before he hears it.

_"Who dares enter the Wellspring Cave?"_

Merlin whips his head around, heart flattening against his ribcage, as he looks for the speaker of the whispering voice.

When he realizes it is coming from inside his own head, he turns to run back out the way he came.

He doesn't get the chance to move another step before he notices there are lights dancing on the ceiling. Not his lights.

_Not lights at all._

What appears to be a swarm of drunken pixies swirl around and around overhead until they abruptly dive into the earth where there's a small spark before the ground splits open.

Out crawl Hollow Men.

Even though he has never seen them before, Merlin recognizes the creatures as Hollow Men.

You don't grow up in a world like Albion and not know the Hollow Men. The deformed skeletons, appearing in the tattered vestiges of when they were once human, straddle the line between the living world and the cryptic beyond.

The raspy, whispering voice gets louder in his head.

_"Pregnant sorcerer… why do you disturb the Hollow Men?"_

Merlin turns and darts in the other direction, deeper into the cave.

_"You cannot run from us. You are too weak. The baby is stealing your soul."_

All the stories warned: don't listen to the Hollow Men. But, how can you ignore their hateful words when they are coming from _inside you_?

_"Your magic will never be the same. You will never be the same."_

Merlin flings his hands chaotically, pieces of Hollow Men exploding all over the cavern floor.

_"Your baby will not survive. Arthur will hate you forever."_

They are slow and their bones brittle, but the Hollow Men keep _regenerating_. This is a fight he cannot win.

Merlin keeps running, blowing apart Hollow Men as he goes. He won't listen to them. He _won't_.

"Martigan! Where are you?" he calls out and for those few blessed seconds, he drowns out the Hollow Men in his head.

There is only one other section in Wellspring Cave besides the first open space. It's a dead end, but this is where Merlin finds Martigan on his knees, cradling his head in his hands and screaming for it to _stop_.

A mass of Hollow Men lurch slowly toward the mercenary, their fleshless fingers outstretched.

With a wide sweep of his hand, the Hollow Men in the room scatter into bones. By the time Merlin has reached Martigan and helped him to his feet, there are already more twirling lights preparing to spawn a fresh batch.

With an arm fitted around as much of the broadly built mercenary as possible, Merlin leads him back out the entrance, blowing through the Hollow Men that block their path.

They don't stop moving until they are on the other side of Rookridge and night has fallen.

Merlin starts to untie his bedroll with a long-suffering sigh when Martigan stops him.

"There's a small inn in town. We both deserve a bit of softness to sleep on."

This is the best idea Merlin has heard in weeks. Shame it came from this bane of his existence.

The "inn" is actually two spare bedrooms an old woman started renting out after her children grew up and her spouse died.

Merlin is just happy to sleep indoors, even when the innkeeper tells them only one of the rooms is available.

_Typical Merlin-luck._

Martigan doesn't waste any time skirting around the issue.

"You take the bed. I got the floor."

Merlin gives him a truly grateful look and lets him use his bedroll to help pad the other one.

As exhausted as his body is, Merlin is not ready to just pass out as he has been doing recently. He sits on the side of the bed and watches Martigan toss off his shirt and get down to the floor with a groan.

Merlin doesn't extinguish the ball of light hovering over the room.

"Tell me about your magic," he asks quietly, knowing that the other man will oblige. Truth be told, it is Merlin who has made their "relationship" (such as it is) a strained one. The young warlock has to admit: the mercenary has been pretty decent throughout this journey (except for fondling his belly and spying on him while bathing. _Filthy pervert_).

"I'm not special like you," Martigan says seriously, no trace of teasing in his voice, "I have this spell book I've learned from, but it's mostly tricks and low-level attacks. Nothing like your true Earth-magic."

"Can I see it?"

Martigan retrieves the book from his things and comes over to Merlin, kneeling at his feet by the bed.

Merlin is a little uncomfortable by this, but he tries not to show it.

He turns the pages, glancing at the spells.

Not one is something he couldn't do half asleep and with one hand tied behind his back.

"See?" Martigan says, his eyes naturally resting on Merlin's stomach from his vantage point.

"Well… you've managed to hold your own against me."

"But, it's like you said. You're not at your optimal level. I can feel it. Your power, when unchecked, could level worlds."

Merlin feels something akin to a blush rise in his cheeks and he looks down, humbled by the other man's praise.

"Most of the time, I'm proud of what I am," the young warlock confesses, "It's part of what defines me and makes me special… But, then there are times when I wish… things could just be _simple_."

Merlin unconsciously presses his hand against his widened frame.

Martigan doesn't miss this (Martigan rarely misses anything).

"I've spent more time with you this past month than I have with anyone else in my adult life," the mercenary admits apropos of nothing and Merlin doesn't want this to get awkward.

But more than that, he realizes he doesn't want to see this bizarre (and sometimes infuriating) merc unhappy.

"You're a decent man, Martigan," he says sincerely, "Not just anyone would run into Wellspring Cave to save a stranger's life without expecting anything in return."

"Well, I didn't exactly save anyone, did I?" the mercenary says self-deprecatingly.

"Your heart was in the right place."

"I should have known better, though," Martigan sighs, "I had heard the stories about Wellspring Cave. Supposedly some Mediterranean traders had come from the coast and, instead of the usual bartering of ideas and wines, they ransacked Rookridge and stole any valuables they could find. The people fought back and cornered them in the cave where they were trapped forever."

Merlin shivers.

"I thought they were confined to Wraithsmarsh."

"Stories say you can find Hollow Men in Wraithsmarsh, Wellspring Cave, and some areas of Westcliff."

"So, people have to face both balverines _and_ Hollow Men in Westcliff? I cannot understand why there's even a village there."

"They're fine. As long as they never, _ever_ leave town."

"What a way to live. I couldn't survive it."

"I don't know," Martigan gives him a measured look, "You were very impressive back there. Hollow Men aren't physically hard to fight, but you were able to ignore their Nightmare Whispers. That is almost impossible to do."

"I guess it's because the magic I used came naturally," Merlin shrugs, "I didn't have to concentrate on it and could focus my energy on shutting out their words. If I had to use a spell I wasn't familiar with, I would not have done as well."

"I find it hard to believe there's a spell you don't know."

Merlin laughs off his compliment.

"Take your pick. My spell book is full of them."

"Can I see it? Your book?" Martigan asks almost shyly even though he had readily allowed Merlin to look through his.

Merlin nods and indicates his travel pack.

Martigan peruses the pages with interest.

"Most of these… I don't think I'd have a chance of conjuring. Look at the intricacies!"

"There are a few mid-level spells in there. But, I agree. Most of them are quite insane."

"What are these?" Martigan asks, indicating the pages Merlin has marked.

The same pages that contain the spells that are going to help him give birth in about a month.

"Well, they-" Merlin stammers, looking down at his hands, "They are for… uhm."

Martigan waits patiently.

Merlin cannot tell the truth, but he doesn't really want to lie either.

"I'm in trouble," he admits, vaguely, "And those spells are… Well. They're going to save the day."

The mercenary's eyes drift predictably to Merlin's protruding belly then back up to his flushed face.

"I hope they serve you well," he says and lets it go at that.

The merc puts away their books and gets back on his bedroll.

The light blinks out.

"Good night, Martigan."

"Good night, little Sparrow."

A meaningful pause. Finally-

"Merlin."

Martigan smiles in the dark.

"Merlin."

* * *

Merlin blearily wakes to absolute darkness and a tense silence.

Movement on the bed that does not originate from him makes it clear why he has woken in the dead of night.

For a terrifying moment, Merlin thinks _balverine!_ but then they would never be this subtle.

The cushion dips on both sides of his hips and Merlin can feel the warmth of another living, breathing body spread over his skin.

"No," he says firmly and directs an intentionally weak force-push at the displaced air hovering above him. Instead of flying across the room, Martigan slides a foot down the bed.

Merlin lights the room and scrambles up to put more distance between himself and the mad merc.

Martigan stares at him unblinking with eyes wide and full of want and Merlin shivers.

"You were crying for Arthur again," the mercenary says in a low voice.

"Either you get off the bed or I will," Merlin speaks as calmly as he can.

"This job, this life…" Martigan intones softly as if he hasn't heard the other sorcerer, "It gets lonely."

"I'm sorry," Merlin says truthfully, hearing the unspoken words, "But I can't… I don't want to. My heart belongs to another."

"Can I kiss you?"

"No."

Martigan doesn't move from the bed.

And just like that, this tentative friendship starts to crack at its newly-built foundation. Merlin thinks this may be a good time to end the truce.

But, finally, the merc starts to get back on the floor. He pauses at the last second, something coming to his mind.

Merlin is afraid to find out what.

"Let me show you something."

Martigan takes his spell book out of his gear again and turns to a particular page.

He gets back on the bed with Merlin, but at a more respectful distance.

"Close your eyes."

Merlin narrows them instead and his fingers flex instinctively.

"I swear on my honor. I will not touch you while your eyes are closed."

Although some self-preservative voice inside him begs him not to, Merlin obliges the request. He listens closely.

Martigan speaks the words to a spell the other sorcerer is not familiar with.

The bed shifts again and there is warm breath ghosting over Merlin's face. He can feel the merc so close.

The baby is doing somersaults in his stomach, making the nausea ebb and crash like a turbulent tide.

"Look at me," Martigan commands gently.

Merlin opens his eyes and Arthur stares back at him.

"Now will you let me have you?" Martigan asks with Arthur's mouth.

Merlin stops breathing. His heart seizes dead in his chest.

Martigan runs Arthur's fingers down across Merlin's lips to his swollen belly.

"That's not my Arthur," he finally chokes out, misery closing over him like a shadow over fading light.

"Yes it is," Martigan whispers and slips his hand under Merlin's shirt.

He has Arthur's nose, hair, lips, strong and toned form down to perfection.

But, his eyes…

He cannot hide the lie in them.

Merlin's jaw clenches tightly and that is the only warning Martigan gets before he is hit with a shock spell and Arthur's face and hair crack and fall to pieces like a broken mask. The mercenary is wide-eyed and fish-mouthed, staring back stupidly at the incensed warlock.

Before the merc can recover, Merlin slows time and then releases another spell to throw him backwards off the bed.

Merlin frantically collects his belongings before Martigan can regain consciousness.

"Your client," he speaks to the fallen mercenary while stepping over his sprawled form, "I did wrong this man. I did steal from him. But, he is _not_ my Arthur."

* * *

Unfortunately, Martigan catches up with the young sorcerer on the outskirts of Brightwood.

Even more unfortunate, so does someone else.

* * *

**Will continue tomorrow! Thanks for reading! :)**

**To the reviewer "altfly": **Since I can't respond to your review personally, I just want to say here how much I appreciate you taking the time to read the story and give such a thoughtful review (like you did for _Bearing Fruit_). I like the Martigan character as well, even though he is flawed as we saw in this chapter. He's hilarious to me, though. Thanks again for being so awesome and I hope you enjoy the rest!


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**ACT II**

Approximately two and a half weeks have passed since he abandoned Martigan in Rookridge.

Even though he knows it could be more dangerous, Merlin stays at inns whenever possible. His pregnant self just cannot take the rough ground every night anymore. Especially not after he had that delicious taste of a real bed.

_Damn Martigan._

Roughing it in the wild has been even more tiresome for him since he's been increasingly ill as of late. His mother had told him that her morning sickness had stopped at the fifth month. He guesses he just has to be damn lucky in everything.

He leaves the inn in Brightwood slightly before full dawn when the world is still cast in that hazy blue shadow. As he is getting his gear together, he realizes he doesn't feel sick at all for once. In fact, he practically feels like singing and dancing. His baby is in an incredibly good mood.

Merlin should _really_ be wary of this.

But, he cannot bring himself to feel anything negative right now.

Not when his baby is all but humming contentedly in his belly, he seems to have finally rid himself of that pesky merc, and he is already halfway through his thirty-fourth week with only about two and a half left to keep up this arduous journey.

And then it's back into Arthur's (probably furious, but welcoming) arms with the added bonus of their new bundle of joy.

Merlin spends that night in a shallow cave cut into the cliffs bordering Brightwood's beaches. The gentle lap of the surf and the smell of warm, salty waters lulls Merlin into a deep, easy sleep.

Immediately, he dreams. The same dreams he has every night.

He dreams of that look and tone of voice that Arthur only uses when they're alone.

He dreams of that feeling only Arthur and magic can give him, of liquid gold coursing through his veins.

He dreams of Arthur sinking to his knees before Merlin to press his ear against the sorcerer's bellybutton, listening for the baby to share its secrets with him.

He dreams of that sinful and sweet mouth against his temple and those strong hands cupping his face.

Oh, Arthur…

"I'm here, Merlin."

Of course, he dreams of Arthur saying those words.

"Merlin, my Merlin. I've missed you and… Oh, I couldn't stand it… I can't even…"

Well, now that's new.

Dream-Arthur can usually complete his sentences.

Sluggishly crawling through the disorienting web of slumber, Merlin distantly wonders if the sea rose up while he slept and flooded the cave. It would sort of explain the dampness on his face and that heavy feeling of being completely surrounded.

His magic, as if an entity unto itself that does not need his conscious effort, streams light across the rock shelter, imitating the stars.

Merlin is still slow to realize someone is sprawled on top on him, kissing every centimeter of skin that is exposed.

When the sorcerer's eyes adjust to the light, he is staring at the twinkling ceiling of the cave. The mystery person has his face buried against Merlin's neck, muttering fragmented sentences in between hard presses of his mouth. Merlin can just make out disheveled blond hair in his peripheral vision.

When Arthur's face suddenly hovers over his briefly before moving in towards his lips, Merlin turns away and wills his heart not to respond to the sight of his true love.

He has already learned he cannot always blindly trust what he sees.

He won't let that hopeful elation soar through him again, only to be brought back colliding down to Earth at the reality of his foolish mistake and Martigan's merciless illusion. If he crashes that hard a second time, he may never be put back together again.

This isn't Arthur. It can't be. Arthur is days away, tucked behind Camelot's walls.

"Merlin?"

Using Arthur's voice to convey uncharacteristic uncertainty and fear is more torture than Merlin can bear.

A bright ball of pain splinters in his chest and he pushes at the deceitful decoy whose very existence mocks his anguish.

"You cruel..." Merlin sobs, "… vile monster."

The blond sits back slightly away from Merlin, stung.

"Merlin?" he tries again, reaching out hesitantly. Unsure of himself, his hand stops before it can move towards Merlin's face and instead lays gently over the warlock's belly.

The warmth of his palm seeps straight into Merlin's core and it feels as if the baby's own palm is pressed against his on the other side.

Merlin looks again. There are tears in the other man's eyes.

His eyes.

"Arthur?"

Merlin feels the kind of disbelief the prince must have felt when he first understood that Merlin's swollen belly wasn't just the result of extra helpings of sweet bread and pottage.

Arthur melts over him when he sees the recognition in Merlin's face.

"I've found you," he whispers before his lips seal over the sorcerer's in a kiss that has been waiting for two and a half months.

This time, Merlin accepts him fully inside, twisting his fingers in Arthur's hair as if he is never going to let go.

Their kisses are wet and desperate, bordering on painful. Merlin wouldn't be surprised if they manage to break something.

_To hell with it. Bones are easy to heal._

Between the pressing of lips and the gliding of tongues, breathless whispers fill the small cave.

"You don't know what this did to me…"

"I dreamed about you…"

"I couldn't think, I couldn't eat…"

"I could feel your touch every night…"

"I was going mad…"

"And every morning, you were gone again…"

"Swear to me…"

"The baby cried for you all time…"

"I could never endure this again…"

"I could feel its longing for you across a thousand kilometers..."

"I love you. I love you both so much…"

"Arthur…"

"Swear to me."

"I will never leave you again. _We_ will never leave you."

They lie embracing for an immeasurable time, content to just feel the other close by and real.

Arthur wants to stay up the rest of the night, needing physical and visual confirmation that his pregnant sorcerer is really here in his arms.

The prince leans against a smoother surface of the cave wall, Merlin lounging safe and cozy between his legs. Together, they caress the sleeping baby who is lulled into a perfect peace by their combined touch.

At Arthur's request, Merlin details his adventure, from his first attempt to leave Albion to staying at the inn in Brightwood the night before.

He leaves out the details of Martigan's unhealthy interest, but he has to know why Arthur hired _him_ instead of a _sane_ bounty hunter.

"He was highly recommended and his boasts of greatness are obviously well-deserved," Arthur explains, "It is because of his letters that I am here now. Later, I'll have to travel to a trading camp near Witchwood. I owe him the rest of his compensation."

Arthur presses his nose into the sorcerer's hair and breathes in Merlin and the sea.

"Truly, I owe him more than I could ever pay in gold."

Merlin silently disagrees, but presses back into Arthur's chest.

"We're going to have to discuss what happens next," Merlin says after awhile, wishing he didn't have to be the one to once again bring up the unpleasantries of their situation.

"I would think that was obvious," Arthur says simply, that all-too-familiar stubborn tone infusing his words.

"I only have about two and a half weeks left," Merlin says in what he hopes is a reasonable manner. He knows sometimes he has to tread lightly with the prince in order to get his way.

"I'm already disobeying the king by being here," Arthur says, "I left a letter in my rooms for the servants to find saying I heard a rumor that someone was trying to revive an old raiding party from the north and I went to investigate."

"Uther is going to question why you didn't send someone else to do the scouting work while you stayed behind to prepare the knights in case the rumor proved to be true."

"Hence the 'disobeying' part," Arthur says, "I'm probably going to spend the first few days (or weeks) in the dungeons when we get back. We're going to need a story to explain your disappearance or you'll be joining me."

"What have you been telling everyone?"

"That I just didn't know where you were. Father was angry that you abandoned your post. He was the one who suggested putting a bounty on you. But, he meant for you head, not safe return."

"Then I'm sure you can understand my lack of eagerness to return. Especially if he's trying to make a statement about loyalty to the kingdom."

"We'll say you were kidnapped."

"By who?" Merlin asks skeptically.

"Random bandits."

"For what purpose?"

"Pleasure wench."

Merlin elbows Arthur sharply.

"Hey, it's pretty plausible if you think about it," the prince smirks, "This way, you cannot be blamed. And, as I was searching for information about the rebels, I came across you who somehow managed to slip away from your captors."

"Cute," Merlin rolls his eyes, "But, what about the fact that I'll obviously be close to popping open like a squeezed blueberry?"

"You can stay in your quarters for that period. I'll say I'm giving you time off to recover from your ordeal."

"The risk is just too high," the warlock shakes his head, "I say we find me a little woodland shelter to stay in, two to three hours from Camelot and _then_, after I give birth, I can return triumphantly free from my 'assailants.'"

"Another two and a half without you? No. I couldn't stand it. And anyway you had all but forgot who I was just a few hours ago. If we stay apart any longer, you'd probably never remember me again."

The mild bitterness in the prince's voice is only offset by the tightening of his arms around his Merlin.

"I could never forget who you are!" the sorcerer protests, offended.

"It was like you didn't even recognize me when I first woke you up!"

Merlin's face burns.

"I was half asleep…"

"You looked dead at me."

"I just wasn't sure…"

"Who else would it be?" Arthur exclaims, "Do I have some long-lost twin I don't know about? When you turned away from me… it felt like I had been run through with a spear."

Merlin sighs. They had promised no more hiding truths from one another.

"Martigan… tricked me."

Arthur already doesn't like the sound of this.

"He knows a spell that can… make you look like someone else."

Arthur's clever, so Merlin leaves him to figure out the parts unspoken.

He knows the second when it all comes together. He feels Arthur stiffen behind him and the air forced harshly from his nose stirs the hairs on the sorcerer's neck.

He watches the fingers of Arthur's right hand flex slightly as if they itch to reach for the sword hanging from the belt still attached around his waist.

Merlin recognizes the signs of a murderously angry Arthur.

"Looks like I'll be visiting that trading camp for reasons beyond just paying my debts," the prince says darkly.

"Arthur, don't… I was angry at first, but he's really not a bad person. It's just that he's been alone for a long time. He doesn't have anyone to go home to. He probably doesn't even really have a home. I bet he feels like he doesn't belong anywhere. That can make a person desperate."

"Still not happy," Arthur grinds out, sullenly.

Merlin turns slightly in his arms so he can kiss that tense mouth until it is slick and pliable again.

"I bet I can make you happy."

* * *

Merlin and Arthur wake to a shadow casting over their entwined bodies, blocking out the warming light that had been slanting into the cave.

Martigan stands at the entrance, his broad silhouette almost filling the entire space.

Disentangling himself swiftly from Merlin's suddenly tense limbs, Arthur stands from the ground in one fluid motion and stalks boldly towards the merc.

Martigan backs onto the flat lands outside the grotto and Arthur pursues him bullishly.

The sorcerer watches this silent display of aggression with trepidation, still frozen on the spot. They move out of his view.

The sound of a sword being unsheathed quickly followed by the sound of another sword coming out to play finally uproots him.

Merlin struggles to his feet and waddles out after them.

Both men are getting into first stance when Merlin calls out.

"Please! Don't do this."

They ignore him, still sizing each other up.

"So, Blondie's not Arthur, huh?" Martigan directs at Merlin, his eyes never once straying from the murderous intent on his ex-employer's face.

"Arthur! Martigan!" Merlin chastises, "This is madness. Please stop…"

His voice trembles at the end of his sentence. The morning nausea he's come to expect like the dawn ripples through him, but a thousand times more powerful. He leans heavily against the cave entrance, suddenly unable to support himself.

Neither man notices him.

"That is the… _mother of my child_ you tried to disgrace," Arthur speaks in a tone not unlike the growl of a balverine.

Martigan falters at this, taking a step back while his perplexed gaze flits to Merlin. His sword lowers a millimeter.

Arthur, trained to exploit an opponent's weaknesses for his own advantage, keenly observes this slip, but doesn't strike.

Because Martigan is still looking past him, presumably at Merlin, and the panic on his face replaces the prince's blood with ice.

The warrior in Arthur won't let him lose sight of his target nor stray from his defensive position.

That is until he hears a thump that resembles the sound of a bag of grains hitting wet sand followed by Merlin's pitiful cry.

Arthur turns his back on Martigan and races over to where Merlin is crumpled like a rag doll at the mouth of the cavern.

"Merlin!"

Arthur falls to his knees beside the limp sorcerer, cradling his pale face in his hands.

"Merlin, look at me!"

He tries to, but his vision is dimming more and more with every second.

"I think… I think I'm having the baby," Merlin shudders, his voice raw and faint.

"It's too early!" Arthur flusters, pressing his hand against Merlin's stomach as if he can keep the baby in.

"Spells. The book," Merlin gasps, every syllable an enormous effort, "I need it…"

"Spells?" Arthur's voice cracks, his mind splintering with dread and desolation.

For the first time in his life, the prince feels helpless.

Merlin and the baby are going to die and he can only sit by and watch, utterly powerless to stop it.

He is startled when Martigan suddenly drops to the sand beside him, the book in his hands.

"I can… try."

Arthur looks at Martigan like he wants to kiss him and kill him at the same time.

For his part, the merc looks as terrified as he feels.

"The marked pages," Merlin moans, determined to finish this in spite of his body's surrender to the impending coma.

The sight and sounds of Arthur and Martigan leaning over him clears and fades with his heartbeat. One second he can see and hear their worry and the next, they are but shadows and whispers. A numbing sensation creeps through his limbs until his body doesn't even feel like his own.

"There's a knife in my bag."

Arthur pulls out the dagger strapped to his ankle, thrusting it forcefully in Martigan's hand.

"Use this!"

Martigan holds the knife like he doesn't know what it is.

"Cle-cleansing spell," Merlin wheezes, "For the knife. Then… Cut me… open."

Arthur's eyes squeeze shut when the realization hits him like a battering ram to the gut.

"Anti-bleeding… Then use… wound-healing spell."

"You make it sound so easy," Martigan chokes, his finger trembling as it traces the words of the first spell.

It burns Arthur to know that the fate of his loved ones lies completely in the hands of this hired thug.

"If they die... You die."

Martigan glances at that hard truth in Arthur's eyes, swallowing around the tightening in his throat.

"Not helping," he informs the deadly serious blond, sweat drops from his brow blotting the pages of the spell book. "I think I'm handling this pretty damn well considering the fact that… that…"

Martigan doesn't know of any words that could sufficiently describe what's going on here. He's about to slice open the belly of a male sorcerer and pull out a (hopefully) living being. This is beyond his call of duty as a mercenary.

"Arthur?" Merlin begs, tears coming freely. "Don't let anything happen to the baby."

The prince takes Merlin's hand and holds it against his cheek, bowing his head. He cannot speak.

"Arthur…"

Merlin forces his eyes to stay open a second longer. If it's where he's going, he wants to have one last perfect image of his love to take with him to Avalon.

* * *

**Please continue to the next part, my dear friends!**

**But first, a brief WARNING:** the next part is a _little_ on the angsty side. But, I promise: you can trust me.

**

* * *

To the reviewers I can't respond to personally**:

**Sea Stone**: Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you decided to give my story a chance even though it features mpreg. I can't remember how I got the idea for Merlin's pregnancy in _Bearing Fruit_, but it seemed to make sense to me that he might be preoccupied with life/death after what happened at the Isle of the Blessed. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story and thanks again for taking the time to read and review :)

**nimi1611**: You're so sweet for saying you love this story. Yay! It really makes me happy. Updates are coming every day! :)

**altfly**: I don't mind the questions at all. They help me stay vigilant so that I can double-check my rationale for things. Merlin is actually about 7 and 3/4 months pregnant by this point in the story (by my scary calculations), so at one point he's kind of rounding down (2 months left) and at the other point he's kind of rounding up (1 month left). I should have made that clearer. He is closer to the 8 month mark, but not quite there. I will edit for clarity since other readers may have the same question. As for Merlin running around a lot in this part, he only had to "run" in the Wellspring Cave briefly to get them out of the Hollow Men's grasp. When he escapes from Martigan those times, the mercenary had been temporarily "bound" or "stunned," otherwise Merlin wouldn't be able to get away. At that point, Merlin does "rush" a bit to get some distance between them, but he's not constantly "running." It is possible for the baby to be stressed from all this movement, so I understand your question. As far as what Martigan wanted, we'll never know :) Lastly, as I said in the "Author's Notes" at the very beginning of the story, the creatures are from the video game **Fable **and **Fable II** for XBOX/360. I changed some of their history and traits a bit to make it interesting, but the idea of their characters is from the games. Which, by the way, MOST AWESOME GAMES _EVER_.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

The first thing that stimulates Merlin's awareness is the feeling of deep pressure and neutral warmth swathing his entire aching body.

Next, he recognizes the sound of voices nearby. If he can just concentrate on their words and what they mean…

"How about… Bradford?"

"I hate that."

"You look like someone who would like that name."

"Well, I don't..."

Merlin's eyelids are a hundred tons apiece. Lifting them takes several tries.

The world is one wide, greasy fingerprint, but Merlin cannot lift his hands to his face to try and clear his sight.

The voices continue in their conversational tone.

"Your suggestions haven't been that great, either."

"Better than yours."

"No."

"And anyway, why should I seek naming advice from a man called '_Martigan_?'"

"Hey! It's not like I named myself."

Merlin blinks until fuzzy edges start to sharpen and shapes are again their own separate forms instead of one massed blur.

The sun is setting outside and the light is dim, but Merlin can still see Arthur and Martigan standing a few feet away from him, facing each other.

Arthur is holding a small bundle wrapped in one of his shirts. The red one he likes so much.

Once it fixates there, Merlin cannot tear his gaze away from the bundle the prince rocks in his arms ever so gently.

Arthur turns slightly in his direction, freezing when his eyes meet those of the sorcerer's.

Arthur's hair is sweaty and flat against his skull, his face tear-stained and the skin under his eyes dark. The baby he is holding is wrinkled and blotchy.

It is the most beautiful, perfect vision that has ever graced Merlin's eyes.

He wants to reach for them, but he is paralyzed.

"Merlin, look…"

Arthur carefully sits beside him on the floor, looking at Merlin as if the sorcerer has just bestowed upon him all the riches of the universe and crowned him its king.

He pulls back the bedroll, freeing Merlin's arms.

Pain and fatigue make the warlock feel as if he is moving underwater.

Martigan quietly leaves the cave.

With a strength that he must have borrowed from Arthur, Merlin sits up and allows the baby to be placed in his lap. The weight of it strikes him.

The baby shifts slightly in its sleep, a hint of movement Merlin can feel against his chest and arms.

And that's when it hits him.

_This is real._

Merlin looks at the living human being he is responsible for with an unpredicted mixture of tenderness and _horror_.

Merlin looks at Arthur with his feelings writ large on his unguarded face.

Arthur just kisses him and then the baby.

"Our little boy," he sighs, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Merlin runs his finger across the baby's forehead, the skin like flaking paper. Little white blemishes are freckled across the entire tiny body underneath the light dusting of downy hair. The eyes are swelled shut, the mouth slack in sleep.

Arthur leaves Merlin's side for a second (in which the young "mother" almost scurries frantically after him), returning with a cool, wet sack. He pulls out a tin canister from inside.

"You've spent the last ten hours in some kind of trance," he explains, "Martigan went into Brightwood to find milk for the baby. He bought it from a recently pregnant woman. We should feed him every two to three hours."

Merlin doesn't respond. Arthur is hardly making any sense to him.

"We'll have to keep buying milk from new mothers until the baby is weaned off," Arthur continues, oblivious, "It'll be easier around five or six months when he can start eating soft, pureed foods. Some women continue giving their children breastmilk up to two years of age, but it should be fine if we stop it at one year. At least, that's what the Brightwood woman told Martigan. She was on her third child and they were all still alive, so I guess we can trust her judgment. We're going to have to find a nursemaid in Camelot. Gaius may have some useful information… I won't be able to speak to him directly, but you can… Oh, and didn't the mason's wife just have a child two months ago? I forget her name, but…"

Merlin lets Arthur's words fade into background noise. He wonders how long this feeling of having a head stuffed with cotton is going to last. For one awful moment, he wishes it was just he and Arthur again. They didn't have enough time to just enjoy each other. Everything happened so fast.

He doesn't know how to be a parent.

The only thing he is good at is magic. But, what good is magic when the baby cries for something and Merlin cannot figure out what he needs?

He's going to ruin Arthur's dream of this perfect family.

Arthur will start to hate him. The baby will reject him.

"…And the Brightwood woman said not to put him on his stomach when he sleeps. If we swaddle him, we have to make sure it's not too hot or too tight. When you hold him, make sure to support his head and neck. Yes, what you're doing there… We should wash him with a damp cloth until that stump falls off, which could take between one and four weeks…"

Arthur leans over to stroke the baby's cheek while he blathers on, his hair tickling Merlin's nose. The scent triggers a memory of lying in the prince's bed at the peak of night, Arthur path-tracing the dips and curves of Merlin's collarbone with his tongue. Arthur whispering in the dark how he never knew anything could be this perfect.

Merlin has this incredible urge to press against Arthur now, wrap his arms around his sturdy frame and hide his face against his chest.

But, he can't. His arms are already full.

Merlin can feel the stinging beginnings of tears and the growing pressure in his throat that warn he is about to cry.

He passes the baby over to Arthur as if it carries the plague. The prince, who accepts his son carefully (mindful of supporting the head and neck), is _still talking_ as if Merlin is actually listening.

The sorcerer rolls onto his knees and uses the crags in the wall to scrabble up to his feet as if he is some kind of rodent or insect.

Arthur is just noticing Merlin's lack of attention and alarming behavior when the new "mother" pushes hard against the wall to propel himself away from the pair on the floor, stumbling towards the cavern's entrance.

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice is the definition of confusion.

Merlin wobbles and stumbles as he tries to escape. He keeps his head low and his eyes fixed on his feet as they try to navigate the rocky terrain. His hands are thrust forward, prepared for the smallest misstep that would take him down.

_"Merlin!"_ Arthur hisses, trying not to wake the baby. "Where are you going?"

At this, Merlin chances a glance up so he can answer that question for himself. The sea is west, so that leaves him north or south.

Turning, he notices Arthur's horse is standing quietly a few meters from the cave.

Merlin staggers towards it, unaware he is whimpering low in his throat until the horse turns its head in his direction and starts pawing the sand nervously.

Merlin makes it about five steps before his feet fuse to the ground and the sudden disruption of his body's inertia has him flying forward to land heavily on his stomach. The shock of soreness that throbs through his trunk and limbs forces him to stop fighting the losing battle and he falls still, face down in the sand. He doesn't even bother lifting his head to ease his erratic breathing.

This inability to move his feet feels just like when Martigan bound him with magic the day they first met.

But, Martigan is not here.

And the only other person who could _possibly_ know any magic…

"Merlin, what…" Arthur trails off when he sees the warlock flat on his face, unmoving.

Merlin snuffs pitifully, grit prickling at his nostrils. He feels Arthur caress his back with firm strokes.

"You haven't eaten all day," Arthur says to the back of Merlin's head, "After everything that you've been through, you really need something in you. You're probably dehydrated, too. I'm sure it's making you feel disoriented and… not yourself."

Merlin takes mental inventory of his body. At the very least, he _is_ a little thirsty.

"It's also time to feed the baby again," Arthur adds stoically.

Merlin wishes the hand on his back would push him down until he is just a Merlin-shaped sand lump that the tide will take out at dusk.

* * *

Martigan returns close to an hour later.

Stepping into the cave, his mercenary skills allow him to track the location and determine the activity of three separate beings within seconds.

Arthur is sitting cross-legged by a small fire, his head down.

The baby is lying across his lap, sleeping.

Merlin is sitting slightly apart from the two, staring into the fire as if he is waiting for it to engulf him.

"I bought more milk while I was in town," Martigan announces in a tone as subdued as the scene before him.

Arthur looks up at him, still as beautiful and dignified as the first time Martigan met him, but now with an almost imperceptible bleakness in his blue eyes.

"Thank you," he says neutrally.

Martigan's still not quite sure where they stand.

Their relationship probably will never evolve from anything greater than reluctant business partners, especially when Martigan can't help how, even now, his gaze fixates on the dark-haired sorcerer.

Merlin, who he hasn't really seen since he used magic to patch his bloody abdomen back together, doesn't even look up at his statement of good will.

Casting a slightly wary glance at the blond (who has resumed looking down at the baby), Martigan approaches Merlin slowly and sits near him.

"I would ask how you're doing, but I'm not sure if the question is stupid, but well-meaning or just stupid."

Merlin lifts his eyes from the fire to look at Martigan, the flames reflecting a golden light that reminds the merc of the times the sorcerer had used magic to destroy monsters and escape his own clutches.

"Can I see my handiwork?" Martigan asks.

Merlin blinks slowly at him long enough for the merc to start wondering if the heat at his temple is not actually from the fire's warmth.

Merlin leans back a little, pulling up the clean shirt Arthur had wrapped him in after the birth.

His stomach is flat and appears unmarred.

Even though there is no mark to indicate it, Merlin touches himself at exactly the same place Martigan had slipped the dagger into the yielding flesh, a long arc above his pubis that had looked like a bloody smile.

In the corner of his eye, the mercenary sees Arthur is now looking at them.

Martigan didn't live to be almost forty by being a simpleton. He knows he's on a fine line here and he resists the urge to reach out and touch Merlin where he had just touched himself.

"I had no idea I was capable of conjuring those spells," Martigan says, shaking his head in genuine wonder. "The vast majority of that book is at a level beyond my abilities."

"It's like I was never pregnant," Merlin says softly, the first words he has said aloud since that morning.

"No, Merlin," Arthur corrects, sounding as if he has two babies, "You were most definitely pregnant. I'm holding the proof right here."

Martigan speaks again before the awkward tension following that statement makes the cave air too thick to breathe in.

"I'm amazed at your body's ability to handle the birth. I think that trance you went into was actually normal… I mean, normal for this situation. I don't think you would have survived had you stayed conscious. When I cut through this one layer, all this fluid just started flowing out of you…"

"That's enough, Martigan," Arthur speaks from the other side of the fire, a clear warning.

"Merlin should know what happened," the merc counters, turning to the warlock again before the blond shuts him up permanently, "The baby started… _glowing_ from inside you. I could see it before I even made the first cut."

"He probably had an idea of your skill level," Arthur insults in a way that is not meant to be taken lightly.

"Hey. Mercenary/lowly sorcerer. Not physician," Martigan defends himself.

Arthur gently sets the baby on the folded up bedroll and then stands to retrieve the pack he brought with him.

He pulls out a sack of coins and tosses it at Martigan, none-too-gently. It hits the merc's chest with a disruptive jangle.

"The rest of your payment," Arthur says as if he is addressing one of those women of easy virtue.

Martigan holds the coins as if Arthur has handed him a sack of rubbish.

He glances at Merlin so quickly, it is barely noticeable.

Arthur notices.

"If it's not too much trouble," the merc begins, "I would like to stay here for the night and leave in the morning. I've been here and back from Brightwood twice today and it's late. I need to restore my energy."

"Our transaction is finished," Arthur says, already gearing up to resume their earlier confrontation if need be. "I am… appreciative of your assistance today, but-"

"Let him stay," Merlin says quietly and it is clear that this is the final word on the matter.

The prince's jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

When Arthur prepares their bedding, he makes sure it is as far from Martigan's as possible in the small grotto. Once he puts the baby down in a thick pile of clean clothes next to his and Merlin's bedrolls, he has to help the half-comatose sorcerer up from beside the fire and in between the warm coverings.

When he slides in beside him, Merlin accepts his body against his eagerly, clinging to the prince as if he wants to crawl inside him and never come out.

Arthur is at a loss.

He has to figure out the cause of the sorcerer's disturbing behavior.

And he has to do it before their baby starts to realize half his world is missing.

* * *

**Last 2 parts tomorrow (hopefully)! Thanks for reading!**

**Notes**: I know this is probably not what people were expecting (Merlin being a "bad" mother), but I promise that it all comes together in a good way. I don't know how to write a story without a happy ending. I'm sorry if this bothered anyone. Forgive me? *looks hopeful*


	7. Chapter 7

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_Please read the_ "Author's Notes" _at the beginning of the story (__Chapter 1)__. Something mentioned in this chapter directly relates to the content there and I don't want it to be confusing (at least not any more than it already is, haha!)_

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The night was a strange one for Arthur and he is inordinately grateful when the dawn finally peeks out its hazy-yellow head.

As forewarned by the recently pregnant woman in Brightwood, the baby woke up every two or so hours, needing to be fed and/or cleaned. As soon as Arthur (and only Arthur since Merlin refused to even open his eyes), helped his son take in enough milk to satisfy his little belly and wiped off his little bottom, the baby immediately went back to his quiet slumber.

Arthur is not sure this is typical. Aren't newborns supposed to be more fussy and demanding?

He wishes desperately to be able to talk to another woman who has endured this experience or a physician who treats children.

But, lucky him, the only support he has is that of a mercenary who wants his payment in the form of a dark-haired sorcerer and a partner who is half near catatonic.

Arthur watches with tired eyes as the aforementioned mercenary and partner both leave the cavern together. He wants to go after them, but the baby is sucking on his finger in an unsubtle hint that it's milk time again.

Arthur knows his priorities. He just wishes Merlin shared them.

Instead, the young sorcerer follows Martigan a little ways out along the shore.

"You should come with us," Merlin offers, if not for the merc's now familiar company, then for a distraction from this tortuous situation.

"I can't say I'm not tempted," Martigan sighs, "But, I don't think I'm much cut out for planting roots. I've lived this nomadic life for so long, I doubt I'll ever be able to settle down in one place. I would end up hurting someone."

"Well, you're welcome to visit us anytime in Camelot."

"Camelot, huh? You're from _thee_ Camelot?"

Merlin would realize sharing this information could potentially be very dangerous if he didn't still have one foot in a state of altered consciousness.

"Yes," he nods simply, "It wouldn't be hard to find us either. Arthur… He's kind of a big deal."

Martigan's suspicions are confirmed.

"Maybe I will see you again someday, little Sparrow."

_Maybe when you're back to being that bright-eyed, sharp-tongued sorcerer I first met in the woods of Fairfax._

He carefully takes Merlin's limp hand in his and presses his lips against his knuckles.

Merlin lets him.

Merlin would probably let anyone do anything right now.

When Martigan disappears from his sight, he returns to the shelter to pack up his and Arthur's gear. He holds on to this simple, habitual act to keep him from slipping even further into that yawning void.

"So, your _boyfriend_ finally left?" Arthur snipes, rocking slightly with the baby held against his shoulder, patting its back.

"Stop it, Arthur."

"No, _you_ stop it!" the prince shouts, unable to hold back his frustrated fury any longer, "Stop neglecting our son. Stop acting like you _died_ instead of gave birth to new life."

As intensely as the feeling tears through him, Merlin doesn't try to run. He knows he wouldn't get very far anyway.

Instead, he backs down a little further into himself and distantly hopes Arthur can forgive him one day.

When they've tied most of their burdens to the prince's poor horse, Arthur helps Merlin on first and then cautiously hands him the baby.

He thanks all the gods that every existed one by one when Merlin doesn't reject their son. Even though he won't look at him, at least he holds him carefully in his arms.

Arthur knows Merlin's still in there. He just has to find the door in.

The prince settles in behind Merlin and uses a shirt and some scraps of cloth to fabricate a wrap sling to hold the baby against Merlin's front.

Merlin sits perfectly still, neither helping nor resisting as the baby is tied to him as if he is pregnant again.

When Arthur slides his arms against his sides to seize the reins and the horse takes those first few steps, Merlin's hand instinctively rests against the baby's back to hold him secure.

* * *

Traveling with the baby outside of him takes considerably more time than when it was still in Merlin's belly.

They have to take frequent breaks, to feed and clean the baby, and give its developing brain a rest from all the stimulation.

By the time it's dark again, they've only made it to Bloodstone. This is not the safest place to be in after hours, but there is no other choice.

Arthur hops down from the horse and leads it into the heart of town to find supplies and, hopefully, a bed for the night.

It's not long before they realize the entire population of Bloodstone is gathered in the village square. Shouting and crying fill the night. The lit torches turn the people's faces into little more than shifting shadows and glassy eyes.

Merlin glances down in apprehension at Arthur who wisely steers them along the fringes of the mob.

A dark, beefy man stands on a crate to put himself up higher over the other townspeople.

"Everyone! Everyone! Shut up for a moment and just listen!"

Most obey. A few do not.

"There hasn't been a hobbe attack for three months," the heavy man continues, "They have been staying in the deeper recesses of the woods. They don't often come so near to Bloodstone."

"Until they need more children!" another man yells.

"They took them, Aiden! And you know it!" a woman shouts from the crowd. Her voice sounds as if she tried to swallow a sword.

Arthur finds a young girl standing just behind the thick of the horde, wringing her hands together in a way that looks all together painful.

"Miss?" he gets her attention gently, "We're traveling from Brightwood and haven't heard the news. What's happened?"

"They've taken more children," she weeps, "Four this time, missing since last week. Tonight, we thought we heard those monsters' laughter right on the edge of town."

Neither Arthur nor Merlin know a lot about Bloodstone, but the hobbe legends have been used to scare children for generations.

The first hobbe was a wicked child whose mother threw him down a cursed well where he mutated into a flabby goblinish creature. He skulked around the forests of villages, kidnapping children who wandered too far from home and turned them into fiends like him so he would have someone to play with.

Soon, hordes of hobbes thrived in certain wilds, casting evil spells and gathering more children into their wretched fold.

"My Celcia was spared that last time, but…" the woman shakes her head, "Who knows when they'll come again?"

Some distant part of Merlin feels compassion for these people, but the heavy weight that presses down into him from all sides hasn't lessened since that terrible moment when he realized his life would never be the same again.

"What would you have us do?" Aiden, the man on the crate, shouts to some of the more vocal Bloodstonians, "We've sent several bands of men out to the Moonlit Passage. They never come back."

"So, we let them keep stealing our children? Is that your answer?" a woman cries.

"There is no answer. We cannot win this fight. We will just continue to lose man after man while the hobbes prosper. They steal the armor and weapons from our dead and use them against us! Would you rather this village be completely undefended? Would you rather we continue to send our fathers, sons, and husbands out to be killed for _nothing_?"

The mob again dissolves into indistinguishable yells and sobs.

Arthur looks at the anguished faces in the crowd, at the mothers and fathers of stolen children who would be tormented by their loss and helplessness until the end of their days.

Arthur looks at Merlin, at the small bundle clasped tightly to his chest.

He gives the sorcerer a sad, apologetic smile and then plunges into the crowd.

"Wait…" Merlin reaches for his retreating prince, recognizing the expression on his face.

The one that makes it impossible not to see the future king he will become.

Arthur steps up to the man on the crate at the center of the mob. Without speaking, he nevertheless demands silence from Bloodstone.

He gets it.

Calmly, he addresses the red-faced Aiden who is still more wary than hopeful.

"The Moonlit Passage," Arthur says gravely, "Take me there."

* * *

Five men lead Arthur and Merlin (plus baby) to the Moonlit Passage, although they make it very clear they will not enter the certain deathtrap.

Along the way, Aiden explains that this group of hobbes dwells in a long underground tunnel with several twists and dead ends. The stories say if you follow the small running stream in the middle of the passageway, you can find your way out again.

"They have fangs as sharp as a dragon's," Aiden warns as they approach the tunnel, "And some can cast energy blasts from their scepters. There may be as many as four dozen hobbes in the Moonlit Passage."

Arthur and the Bloodstone men stare at the entrance which appears to be little more than a wide hole in the ground.

"It doesn't look it," Aiden says, "But it's tall and wide enough for several grown men to walk through. Tall and wide enough to fight in."

Merlin struggles down from the horse, mindful of the baby still strapped to him.

Arthur turns to him just as he approaches.

"You know I have to do this."

Merlin nods compliantly.

"I know. And you know I have to come with you."

Arthur glances at the men who conspicuously look everywhere but at the two of them.

"I don't have time for this…"

"Let's go then."

"Merlin! You have to take care of the baby."

"I can't without you."

"Yes, you can."

"I can't, Arthur! I need you!" Merlin's hysteria rises swiftly and piercingly. He is probably heard by every hobbe within a five meter radius.

"Please, Merlin. Don't say anymore."

The people of Bloodstone may not recognize Prince Arthur of Camelot, but the memory of this night and the blond- and black-haired males with a baby who fought as if they were lovers before plunging bravely into the infamous Moonlit Passage to battle hobbes will not easily be forgotten by these villagers.

Arthur takes the proffered torch from Aiden, gives Merlin and the baby one last lingering look and then disappears into the hole.

Merlin waits as many erratic heartbeats as he can stand and then frantically rearranges the sling so that the baby is cradled on his back, freeing the sorcerer's arms.

He steps over to the hole and promptly falls in, automatically making sure to pitch forward instead of backward, scraping his hands and knees. Still fatigued from the birthing ordeal, he is nevertheless able to get back on his feet and move deeper into the passageway without hesitation.

Hobbes are known to possess some intelligence, but Merlin is mildly surprised by the regularly placed torches that line the sides of the tunnel and the intricate markings carved in the rock walls. Weird, glowing fungi grow in tight clusters on the floor.

Merlin follows the running water.

Aiden wasn't exaggerating about the disorienting twists in the tunnel. An area will seem like a dead end until you make a sharp turn and realize there is a way forward. There are pockets of wide open spaces connected by the narrow ducts.

It is in one of these open pockets that Merlin is confronted by six hideous hobbes. Past them, he can hear the echoes of a sword connecting with both armor and bone.

_Arthur!_

The hobbes in front of Merlin look at him inquisitively since he hasn't tried to attack or run. Their beady, black eyes drink him in.

Merlin's blood is rushing in his veins, but there's something not quite right…

There's no time to explore this odd feeling as the hobbes recover from their initial curiosity and start to gain on him.

"You rotten, filthy _muck_," Merlin hisses, bringing his hands up to banish them. It feels like a million years since he's used his magic.

A small, ineffective flicker of light is followed by wisps of smoke leaking from his fingertips. At this rate, the best he can do is make the hobbes' eyes water.

Merlin hears a terrible noise from the goblins that might just be laughter.

He can feel his magic still inside him, but he cannot wield it. It's being held captive deep in his gut, stirring and simmering, but useless.

Merlin coughs nervously, taking a step back toward the canal he had come from.

"Can we talk about this, fellas?" he grimaces tightly in what is supposed to be a smile, "That whole rotten filth thing-"

One of the hobbe mages grins sharply and points his scepter at Merlin.

"No!"

Merlin doesn't even have any time to spare for his life to flash before his eyes.

The energy bolt arcs from the glowing marble at the end of the scepter and dives straight for Merlin.

The sorcerer can hear the energy crackling right by his head, but the jagged burn he should feel destroying his body is just not there.

Merlin opens his eyes (not realizing he had closed them in the first place). There is a shower of energy exploding a centimeter from his face, but not reaching him. It's as if the spell is being blocked, as if there is some tangible thing standing in between the magic and Merlin's vulnerable flesh.

A magic shield.

One he had not conjured.

The hobbes suddenly start wailing in their strange language, infuriated.

Their little feet are rooted to the ground.

They are being bound to the tunnel floor.

_Just like when Merlin tried to run away from…_

Merlin shuts down these thoughts and dashes through a small path between the struggling gang of hobbes, dodging out of the way of a spear that makes a swipe for him.

The sounds of Arthur and hobbes fighting is more distant now, and Merlin can hear more of the little bastards between him and his final destination.

He ducks into one of the dead ends, a small opening barely big enough for him to stand in.

Quickly unharnessing the sling from his back, he pulls the baby around to look at him. It is only by the dim light of some fungi glowing nearby that he can make out the baby's serene face.

"You're doing this, aren't you?" Merlin whispers in wonderment, caressing the baby's cheek with a trembling finger.

Gold starts to trickle into the sorcerer's bloodstream.

Merlin thinks of Arthur still managing to fight in the wake of dozens of hobbes all alone.

"And you're protecting Arthur, too."

One of the baby's hands escapes the wrap and flails slightly. Merlin touches the little palm and the baby squeezes his finger firmly.

The baby was doing it all: stopping Merlin from running away. Protecting them from the hobbes. Binding those evil minions to allow Merlin to escape.

Because he needs them. He needs them strong and united. He needs a family to keep him safe and happy in an unpredictable world.

And he deems them worthy of the challenge.

The gates burst and magic floods every cell in Merlin's body, his eyes flashing in the murky light.

By the time the trio emerges from the Moonlit Passage, the tunnels are saturated with hobbe stew.

Merlin closes his hand into a fist and the rock ceiling collapses, destroying the passage forever.

They return to the now-demolished entrance where they had been first guided, finding the men of Bloodstone staring open-mouthed at a pile of rocks that was once the starting point of their nightmares.

The weary hobbe-fighters don't even bother protesting when the village all but falls to its hands and knees before them.

They humbly accept food, breast milk for the baby, and a warm place to sleep.

Arthur doesn't know what happened in that hobbe cave and he doesn't care.

All he knows is that if he ever feels lost again, the image of Merlin smiling and cooing at their son will show him the way home.

The prince joins them on the bed, lying on his side to face Merlin, the baby surrounded in the middle.

"What did you have in mind?" Merlin asks and Arthur doesn't even have to question what he means.

"I've played around with a few in my head. Zacharias. Victor. Theodric. But, I think I know exactly what his name should be. When I looked at you two together just now."

Merlin tilts his head and studies Arthur's handsome face quietly.

"Emerson. Meaning Emrys' son."

"Emerson Pendragon," Merlin says, enjoying how it sounds and feels. "It's perfect."

They construct a safe, comfortable cradle for Emerson out of one of the blankets at the head of the bed, safe against the wall.

Lying on his back, Arthur pulls Merlin on top of him.

The sorcerer rests his head on the prince's chest, just listening to him _live_.

Only after that oppressive shroud had finally lifted from Merlin's world can he truly appreciate what it had been doing to him. It was like looking through the eyes of a Hollow Man. It was like being buried inside a stone wall, listening to the broken sounds of life going on without you. It was like waking every morning and finding out for the first time that everyone you ever loved is dead, over and over again.

But, Emerson had freed him.

And Arthur had always been there, ready to be his strength.

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**Note: Only one more part, you guys! Thanks for taking this journey with me!**


	8. Chapter 8

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When they can just make out the flags of Camelot in the distance, Arthur tugs at the reins, bringing the horse to a stop.

Knowing they cannot ride into the kingdom as they are, pressed together and holding a baby, Arthur drops from the horse and then helps Merlin and Emerson down carefully.

Arthur and Merlin stand close together, touching in a way they know will have to be in secret from now on.

Emerson sleeps contently in his sling, listening to his father's heartbeat while his dreams.

"Do you remember your story?"

"Arthur, we've been over this again and again," Merlin sighs, "I was kidnapped by a roving band of rebels-"

"For?" Arthur prompts, grinning.

"Pleasure wench," the warlock deadpans and Arthur just laughs. For like the hundredth time.

"And then they were attacked by another gang and I was able to slip away. But, not before I took the baby of one of the women who died."

"All right. But, if you think anyone is starting to get suspicious, tell me."

"What are you going to do?" Merlin scoffs lightly, "Have them killed?"

Arthur just gives him a look.

Merlin doesn't pursue this line of conversation.

"This isn't going to be simple," Arthur warns unnecessarily, looking at the two most important people in his life, "In fact, this is going to be the opposite of simple."

"I know."

"I have my obligations to Camelot," Arthur continues, his blue eyes flickering with a flood of emotion, "To the world, you and Emerson are my servant and my servant's boy. Nothing more."

"I know."

"But, when it's just us," Arthur gentles, "You will know exactly what you both mean to me."

He strokes the baby's hair.

"My son."

He kisses Merlin deeply.

"And my destiny."

* * *

_The following spring…_

Merlin strolls through the forests where he created and then ate the fruit that had borne him the miracle that walks awkwardly beside him now, holding the tiny hand securely.

In his other hand is the handle to a basket filled with fruit, cheese, oat grains and milk.

"Where's a good place, Emmie?" Merlin asks, glancing around the green fields.

The little boy points to an area of lush grass next to a patch of lilies.

The area immediately erupts into flames.

"Now, Emmie," Merlin says in his best stern voice, "What did I say about pointing? It's rude."

Setting down the basket, Merlin extinguishes the fire and clears the ash with his own simple hand gestures.

"Nevertheless, that is a _prime_ spot to have our snack and wait for daddy."

"Da-dee!" Emerson exclaims with a joy only the truly innocent can experience.

When the young boy hears the sound of a horse trotting through the underbrush, the oat piece he had been about to shove into his mouth, completely misses its target and his grayish-blue eyes get as wide as saucers over his fat cheeks.

"DA-DEE!" he screams blissfully and holds his hands up toward the sky.

"Be careful, Emmie," Merlin warns, glancing upward to make sure the sky hasn't changed color and stars don't come raining down on them… _Again_.

Arthur comes riding into the clearing and Emerson is so ecstatic at the sight, tears start leaking down his face.

Merlin would feel a little jealous, but there are times when he is just as euphoric upon looking at Arthur.

When the prince jumps down from the horse, he pretends to trip and does a few rolls in the grass that have Emerson about to go into cardiac arrest at the tender age of one.

Arthur angles his final somersault so that he crashes into Merlin and Emerson thinks this is the funniest thing he's ever seen in his young life.

Merlin pushes Arthur off and slaps at his thigh.

"Don't teach him that!"

"What?" Arthur laughs, picking blades of grass out of the sorcerer's dark hair, "That it's fun to tackle his Mum?"

"Don't call me Mum!"

"Why not? He does."

"Only because you taught him that!" Merlin rolls his eyes, "You know, it's amazing that he spends seventy percent of his waking hours with me alone, yet you're the only one whose opinion he cares about."

"That's my boy!" Arthur praises, stretching out his arms toward Emerson.

The child eagerly crawls towards his father and gets to his feet with only a little bit of help.

Arthur smoothes back the sandy brown curls and studies his little giggling imp with a pleased grin.

"Thank the gods. I don't think he's going to have your ears."

Merlin gives him his most concentrated glare. Lesser men would have pissed themselves.

Arthur just grows more amused.

"Well, they are good for something. They make great handholds when you're on your knees-"

Merlin claps his hand over the prince's mouth, hissing at him to just _shush_.

When he moves it away, Arthur leans in serpent-quick and kisses his lips with a wet smack.

Emerson makes a delighted sound that can almost be mistaken for cheering.

Merlin hangs his head and sighs.

"You're such a bad influence."

"He doesn't understand what I'm saying. Do you, sweetheart?"

Emerson just smiles, earning him another gentle caress of his soft locks.

"My mother says his hair reminds her of mine when I was his age, but lighter," Merlin comments, pleased by the resemblance.

"I like the color," Arthur remarks approvingly, "Let's hope his eyes don't get any grayer though. I want them to stay that deep, sapphire blue. Like yours."

The prince gazes into said blue eyes and Merlin cannot help lowering them demurely.

"He has a new favorite trick," the sorcerer announces, knowing how much Arthur craves hearing about the developments he cannot always be around for.

"Let's see it," Arthur says, turning the toddler around and setting him in his lap.

"Emmie? You want to do the rainbow trick for daddy?" Merlin asks, holding his son's palms together between his own.

"One…"

They bring their hands up.

"Two…"

They bring them down.

"Three!"

They bring them up and apart, vibrant colors streaming from between Emerson's palms in a graceful arc.

He leans back his curly head and stares in open-mouthed awe at the rainbow he created.

"Oh, and he's also finger-feeding himself," Merlin adds, thinking Arthur might appreciate hearing about his son's _normal_ milestones as well.

Arthur kisses his baby's forehead.

"People are amazed that you're able to accomplish all your manservant duties and still provide full-time care to a year old baby."

"Yeah, well, as long as they don't get _too_ amazed," the sorcerer says, thinking he might have to purposefully goof up in public a few times this week.

"Uther wants me to make nice with the Kingdom of Elyscia," Arthur says suddenly, wanting to get the not-so-good news out in the open.

"So, that's why the meeting ran long," Merlin sighs, "How long will you be gone?"

"A week or two at the most."

Arthur falls silent, staring intently at Emerson who is now trying to eat the rainbow out of his hands.

"You were right, of course," he says solemnly after a while, "He will never be able to take the throne."

"No," Merlin agrees without resentment, "But, he will be the greatest sorcerer to ever live. And when you are king that will no longer be a vice, but a virtue to honor and adore."

"And when I produce an heir?" Arthur asks with distinct uneasiness, stroking the boy's chubby arms.

"You're a good father and he will always love you," Merlin assures first, truly happy that he has believed these words in relation to himself ever since that night at the Moonlit Passage.

"And when he is old enough, I will explain it to him and he will understand," Merlin continues with conviction, "He will never be made to feel lesser and he _will_ have a place in this kingdom as your son. I will make sure of it."

Merlin smiles affectionately at Emerson who has dusted off the inedible light and now leans against his father's chest, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"I can see his future now," he says in quiet reverence, "A warrior magician who will advise his brother or sister on matters of political strategy and fight by his or her side for the good of the kingdom. He will be like his father, heroic and clever."

"And like his other father," Arthur adds, "Beautiful and strong."

Merlin rests his head on the prince's shoulder and joins him in caressing their dozing child.

"I'm going to miss you both during this campaign," Arthur laments, "I could justify my manservant coming along, but it would be a stretch trying to justify Emerson's attendance, even for my diplomatic skills."

"I know. But, I've been working on this spell that allows you to travel great distances in seconds. We could come visit you every night and be back in Camelot before dawn. No one would ever know."

"You scare me sometimes," Arthur says with a fond expression, "Do you know that?"

"You know you never have to fear my magic," Merlin avows sincerely, "I command it. And you command my heart."

They stay out there until late evening.

And while Camelot sleeps, Merlin casts a distraction spell and slips into Arthur's chambers unseen, carrying an unconscious, drooling Emerson.

With their baby safe and close by, the prince and the sorcerer come together in the secrecy of night, feeling and sharing and pledging and dreaming.

Merlin doesn't know if this is the destiny the Great Dragon had spoken of. He doesn't know if, with his attempt to control the balance of life and death, he has altered the projected course of their future forever.

But, Merlin has nothing to fear.

Whenever challenges obstruct their path, demand their submission, or threaten their peace, he only has to remember one thing.

It is the three of them against the universe.

_The End_

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**Notes**: So, who wants to kill me and who wants to kiss me? Haha... *Sigh.* There were so many different ways I could have done this sequel and I don't know if I always made the right choices. I really tried to make it an enjoyable read.

**I love every single person who has read/reviewed either **_**Bearing Fruit**_** or **_**Rediscovering Magic**_**. You truly made me as happy as Arthur, Merlin, and little Emmie :) Peace, love, always.**


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